Escape or Die
by queenofthetear
Summary: She awoke in the Box not knowing who she was. She awoke in a world that did not belong to her. She awoke in a place that doesn't want her there. She awoke in a creation that she was not meant to be in. She awoke with a warning etched in her skin. She has two choices, she must Escape or she must Die.
1. Introductions

**Hello there fellow Gladers, **

**I am here to introduce my first ever fanfiction. I hope you don't mind that it is a bit rubbish, but I just had a moment one night and decided to go ahead and do it - plunge into the deep end. As this is my first fic, I would greatly appreciate reviews on if you are enjoying it, if it is bad, anything like that really.**

**As this is a slight crossover, it would have been beneficial to place it within the right section. But, I felt it this story wouldn't be read if I placed it in the right section. So, there is a crossover with Doctor Who, yet it is not the dominant fandom and plays a small part in the fic.**

**I am excited to share this with you, and without further ado, I introduce the protagonist...**


	2. Quote

**Carpe Noctem**


	3. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

* * *

_May we meet again ~ The 100_

* * *

I entered my new life standing up in a small caged box. All I could breathe was the stale, dusty air that surrounded my dark prison.

Metal grounded against metal; the cage jerked upwards slightly, while I crashed downwards to the floor in a sprawling mess. The weakened state of the light far below meant that my eyes were unable to adjust quick enough to see where I was. Feeling across the floor, I shuffled backwards until I felt something hard touch my fingertips. Tracing my fingers to the left slightly, I brushed the wall until I could feel a corner. Once found, I moved into the space and curled into a tight ball. It gave me little comfort, the tight ball, I just felt cold. Nevertheless, I could feel drops of sweat trickle down my face despite the cool air that rushed through the shaft.

Despite the poor light, I knew that I was alone. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be comforted. I just wanted answers. But, somehow, I knew that nothing like that would happen. Ever.

Red light flooded the room to which I had found myself trapped within, giving the first glimpses of what my new prison looked like. Around, I could see crates and crates piled on top of each other, towering over my small ball. With the red light, I was able to make out faint writing scrawled over the sides. Next to the mountain of crates, three, no four, chests sat side by side. They looked worn and weathered, as if they had done this trip thousands of times. I wanted to look inside them, there were no locks that kept them closed.

Sucking up some courage, I left my corner that I had found myself in. As soon as my hand left the wall, harsh sounds of chains and pulleys echoed throughout, bouncing the noise around the shaft, causing a small whine to be heard. The cage jolted; starting its descent upwards. The soft backwards and forwards swaying of the cage lifted nausea into my stomach; the smell of burnt oil didn't help the situation either.

Retreating back to my corner, I focused on other things that would suppress the feeling of throwing up. That was the troubling part. I couldn't remember anything. No memories. No faces. No nothing. But, as if a light bulb flashed in my mind, I was able to recall something that did bring pleasure to this bleak situation.

_My name is …Clarke_, I thought. Clarke. I tested the name on my tongue, dragging on the e's every time. I surprised myself. My voice was high, but not annoying high pitch high, just high. I laughed to myself.

"I know what I sound like," I said to no one in particular.

Then, knowledge started to flood back into the empty space that I called a brain. Useful information about the world and how it ticked. I could picture a snowy wood-scene, where the cold burnt my lips and nose, turning my fingers cold; where snowflakes fell, coating everything white. A busy street, where there were too many people crowded on a pavement trying get past one another.

And yet, even though my name came back, and useful information, I had no recollection of where I actually came from, how I old I was and how I ended up standing here in the cage. Heck, I don't even know my full name (if I had one in the first place). Images of people flashed across my eyes, faces that I must have known before but now was unable to identify them. I had no memory of anyone. Did I even have a family? Did they miss me?

Time past for what seemed like hours, the swaying motion becoming bearable over time. But, I should have known better, it wasn't really hours that had gone by but only a few more minutes. I was able to calculate that I had spent about half an hour in this awful dark box. Half an hour in the darkness alone with nothing to remember.

Yet, with every second that past in the cage, I was able to calm myself down and steady my rapid breathing.

_It's okay, you'll wake up soon with everything intact_, I thought to myself, allowing the fear to dissolve out of my body. Deep down, I knew that I had to calm myself for reasons that I had yet to find out. Ignoring the fear, I allowed curiosity to take over me. Carefully, I stood up from where I sat and edged over to the crates that had once towered over me. In the dim red light that illuminated from far below, I was able to make out the faded writing printed across the sides of the crates. _Property of WICKED_ was what it said. What on earth was _WICKED_?

Glancing around, I noticed that the walls, surrounding the cage, had disappeared, leaving an empty darkness that threatened to engulf me. With a groan and then a click, the cage haltered, giving a sharp sway that caused my body to crash to the hard ground. I banged my head hard as I fell, leaving me slightly dazed. I scrambled into a sitting position and shuffled back to my corner of refuge, waiting for the cage to stop swaying. Finally, it did and everything fell silent.

A minute passed. Then two. Nothing happened. I looked both ways to see if there was any hope for my escape. There was not. I was trapped in this small cage for a reason I did not know. Was I a prisoner? Had I done something so bad that I had ended up here? Letting fear flush over me, I let out a loud cry of help to anyone that was listening. There had to be someone listening.

I could feel my hands start to tremor, my heart beating in an irregular motion, my breath short and raspy. _Deep breaths, Clarke. Come on, like we practised_, my mind reassured me, relaying all the important information to try and reattach myself to the world. If I ever was attached in the first place?

The darkness driving me insane, I jumped up in frustration and pounded on the walls for the people that should be listening. I needed to get their attention, they needed to know that this was a mistake.

Defeated, I traced my steps back into my corner and curled into my tight ball. I started to shiver from the cold air, which allowed fear once again return. Icy chills shuddered down my body whilst my heart was pounding in my chest, threatening to burst out.

"_Someone...please...help...me_", I screamed once more; each word ripping my throat raw.

A large clank came from above me, startling the empty silence. I took in a sharp breath and looked up. I was greeted with a small slit of light that crept along the ceiling of my cage. A heavy groaning sound revealed sliding doors being forced open. After so long in the darkness, the light burned my eyes. I quickly looked away covering my face with my hand.

Something flew over the side of the opening and lagged beside me. It was a green rope of some sort. Stretching out my hand, I went to grab the end of it, until it started to sway. I glanced up to see a figure climbing down the side of the wall, taking his steps expertly – he must do this quite a lot.

I jumped up from my corner and cried to the figure, "You have saved me!" I don't think it was humanly possible for someone to jump as high as he did, but it happened, and with it he fell crashing to the floor like I had only a few minutes ago.

To my surprise, the figure turned out to be a boy. He looked like he was fifteen or so, tall and skinny. His nose was the size of a small fist and resembled a deformed potato. And the face he gave me clearly indicated that he was not expecting my arrival.

"A-a girl," he stuttered, pointing a stumpy finger my way. "A girl."

"Er, yes," I replied, stunned at his reaction. Had he not seen a girl before?

"Gally, what the shuck is taking– what the heck?" spoke another figure that popped their head over the top of the opening. It was another boy.

A few more heads popped into the view of the opening, each one belonging to a boy. _Where have I ended up?_ I thought to myself as I retreated back to my corner. That's when I noticed it, the sticky feeling in my hand that hadn't bothered me until this moment. Bringing my hand into my eye line, I reeled in horror as saw that it was coated in a red liquid – in fact, my whole arm, from the elbow to the tips of my fingers, were covered in blood. I glanced back at the boy who had now moved carefully my way, his arms up as if he was surrendering to me.

"Don't do anything rash," he muttered as he edged ever so closer my way. I backed up into my corner, allowing the boy to make a dive for the rope and scramble back up over the top.

I heard a few voices talk about the situation that they had down below – me.

"It's a girl."

"A girl?"

"I got dibs."

"Is she hot?"

"How old is she?"

"Some shuck go get Alby."

I was unable to understand what the squabbles were about, but I guessed that they weren't happy about something, especially if a person called Alby had to be called. The words that they spoke were foreign and odd, confusing my already muddled mind.

I waited for a few seconds, then the boy's head appeared once again. "Can you climb?" he asked.

"I think so," I answered back. He then motioned for me to climb the rope in the way that he just did. I paused for a second, I couldn't possibly do this; I might hurt myself.

"Look, we don't have all day," the boy said in an irritated tone. I nodded at him, and instead of taking hold of the rope, I climbed the crates because it seemed an easier way to escape. I grabbed hold of the top of the cage and pulled myself out, scraping my knee in the process. I stole a glance back into the cage and banished the memory forever. That was one thing that I was happy to forget about.

A pair of hands grabbed hold of my shoulders and I looked up to see the first face that I had seen. The boy had a sneering look across his face, his mouth twitching into a small smile. His teeth were disgusting which went with his deformed nose.

"Look what we got 'ere lads, a little girl." the boy said, letting go of me. "Did they send you up here to keep us entertained?"

My eyes widened in horror at what came out of that disgusting boy's mouth.

"No matter, girlie," the boy said with a wicked grin. "You'll understand soon. Oh, and welcome to the Glade."


	4. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear. ~ Ben Jonson_

* * *

I scrambled up from the side of the cage and jumped over a slight wall that been built so that the cage resemble a pit. Two feet planted on the ground, I finally saw where I was. I stood in a vast courtyard, several times larger than a football field; surrounded by four large grey stone walls smothered in ivy crawlers. The walls were incredibly high, they had to be over hundreds of feet high, and formed a perfect square around the courtyard, each side split in the middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves.

I noticed that around the green area, there were many people that were at work – all boys. _Where are the girls?_ I thought to myself, trying to understand this new world. There must have been fifty of these boys that were working hard with various jobs; their clothes filthy and sweaty as if they had been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair at varying lengths. I felt the world spin beneath me as I tried to comprehend what actually was going on.

The boys that had 'helped' me out of the cage were now sneering in my direction, a few trying to poke my arms and other places. I swatted them away with an anger that I had just learnt I had. "Don't touch me!" I hissed in their direction, backing away from them. They only sniggered and advanced further in my direction.

_You don't belong here_, my mind quickly thought, preceding with sharp painful stabs that electrified my nerve endings. I yelped in discomfort and threw my hands to my head, like that was going to work. _Get out of here_, it thought again, and I responded to its command. I spied one quick glance at the approaching party, and spun on my heel to run as fast as I could to the nearest exit.

"We have a runner," one of them called as several heads now turned to look my way. Large eyes and gaping mouths greeted me as I ran past them, while I got ever so closer to the large openings that stood over me.

I heard loud thumping close behind me, but I dared not peak, I just ran faster away from the boys, and away from this mess I had found myself in. I was so close to the opening, only fifty metres away. Until, I was tackled hard to the ground, a knee firmly planted on the square of my back. I looked up from my position to see that the opening revealed a dark long corridor that beckoned me to enter. _You can still do it,_ my mind told me as it pestered me to get free and escape.

"No. Please, let me go. I don't belong here," I struggled to say under the weight that was on top of me. "Please, just let me go."

"Stop kickin' me, shank," the boy on top of me laughed. "Calm yourself down, Greenbean."

Burying my face into the grass below, I considered for a moment that my plan of escaping may not have been the best thought out plan in history. What was I going to do when I ended up out there beyond the walls? Was there even something out there?

I focused on something else to distract all the commotion that was happening around me. _Deep breaths_, my mind instructed me to do. _Come on, it isn't that bad, just escape_. Great, I would need serious words with my mind, very serious words indeed.

"Look, I'll get off if you promise not to run," the boy said in a soft tone. "Do you promise?"

I nodded in agreement, making sure that my deal could be seen. Slowly, I felt the pressure release off my back as the boy moved his leg away. Once he was standing, he extended a hand my way. I graciously took it, and pulled myself up from the floor. I turned to face my attacker, wanting to take in the face that dared to touch me. He better watch out, I was coming for him.

The boy was rather tall and muscular, his hair a honey blond that was cut long, cascading over his T-shirt. He looked the age of seventeen, eighteen maybe, with a jawline that could make the toughest girl swoon at his feet.

I take back what I just said, maybe I could let my empty threat slide. You know, I don't think he would survive my wrath (if I had one).

"Where am I?" I questioned the boy, making my voice sound like I was the toughest person around. "I demand to know where I am!"

"Whoa, girlie. Calm down. You ain't gettin' answers if you're in that kind of state." The boy took a step towards me, his hands up in the air. I took a step back away from him. I was scared that he was like that group which had found me in the cage. He crocked his head slightly, registering the fear that must have radiated out of my body.

"It's okay," he spoke softly, no longer closing the gap between us. "I won't bite."

"Where am I?" I asked again, this time in a voice that would at least get me some answers.

"Nowhere good," a deeper voice answered from behind the blond-hair boy. The boy who had spoken revealed himself. He was a dark-skinned with his hair short-cropped and clean shaven; lines creased his face which suggested that he must have scowled a lot. He wore normal clothes: black T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, a digital watch. For some reason the clothes that he wore surprised me; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing – prison gear, perhaps. A group had started to form behind the dark-skinned boy, all curious as to see what the commotion was about. I heard a low whistle escape one of their lips and I snapped my head to see who it had come from. I spotted the group of boys that I had first encountered; their faces pinched into sniggering smiles. I caught the eye of the deformed-nose boy, and he winked in my direction; gods, I felt sick. I quickly shifted my eyes to see a short, pudgy boy, with a head full of messy curls, fidget on his feet back and forwards, his wide eyes fixed on me.

The dark-skinned boy turned to face the deformed-nose boy, who stood slightly to the left of him. "What is the meanin' of this?" he asked, his voice giving the sense he must wield some power in this place. "Well?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I dunno, she was just there when I went down to get the supplies."

"And did you not think to inform me?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah!" his scratchy voice shrieked. "I sent Ricky to go get you. He must have not listened."

"Really, Gally. You're a shucking Keeper for crying out loud, don't ya think he's gonna listen to you?" the boy roared, making me jump out of my skin. I scuttled back from the ever increasing crowd of boys that was forming. I didn't want to be here, I hated being the centre of attention.

"Alby," the fair-haired boy spoke. "Calm yourself a bit, your scaring her."

The boy, named Alby, turned to face me again, his stern face softening, trying to show me that he wasn't a threat. "Look," he carried on, turning back to Gally. "You bring this kind of information _straight_ to me. You hear me. I don't want to find the next Greenie running for the doors again. Hear me?"

"Good that." Gally mumbled. He gave one last long hard stare my way and stormed off in a fiery passion. His little group that stood behind him followed suit. _Like a sheep to its shepherd_, I thought to myself.

Watching the small group disappear out of sight, Alby turned to face me. "What are we gonna do with you?" he muttered to himself, confusion circling through his eyes. "What do you say, Newt?"

Newt stole one glance at me, then answered Alby's question. "I'm not sure. Nothin' like this has ever happened before."

Keeping my eyes fixed on the two boys in front of me, a gently crept backwards towards the doors that was only fifty metres away. I kept my eyes fixed on Alby and Newt and the surrounding boys, making sure that all their eyes were on them and not me. I noticed that one set where not; the small, pudgy boy eyes locked with mine. Before he could even open his mouth to cry out, I had spun on my heel and ran as fast as I could to the exit. My feet collided with the floor as I pumped my arms to let me go faster. _You're going to make it, keep going. You're going to do it!_ my mind cheered as I was less than twenty metres away.

Fifteen metres.

Eleven metres.

Nine metres.

Five metres.

But, as I came to the threshold of the two different worlds, a prickling sensation spiked at the back of my neck, intensifying at the rate it appeared. Suddenly, pain exploded in my head, and I threw myself to the ground; my legs no longer commanded by my brain. I screamed out in pain as it jagged through my head, frying everything in its path. I heard voices that spoke to me, yet I couldn't hear them through the pain. My eyes were sealed shut, but the blackness that seeped in was darker then what I could already see. No longer able to face the pain for much longer, I gave into it and let the world around me collapse into dreams.

* * *

_I flickered my eyes open to see that I was staring at a brilliant night sky. The stars twinkled, the dark sky a sea of wonders. I smiled, taking in the sheer beauty of what laid before me. A wisp of white smoke blew in front of my face, and I noticed, to my surprise, that I was standing on a cloud._

_It was weird. I thought that clouds were clumps of air that floated in the sky. They definitely weren't solid enough for a person to stand upon. _

_I cautiously took steps forward, not aware that I could walk throughout the whole cloud. _

_Not paying attention to the floor, I tripped over my feet and collided with the ground. Or, what was the floor. It felt cold, the air sliding underneath me, as if it was slime. I picked myself up from the floor and continued walking until I found the edge of the cloud._

_I peered over the edge and saw a very large drop between me and the ground. My stomach started to flip in its position, twisting in on itself. I felt light in the head from staring down to the earth for too long. I don't like heights._

_Ignoring the light-headed feeling, I noticed that I was standing on top of a large, brightly lit city. A river bent its way throughout; twisting a turning in different directions. I spotted a few boats cruising along the river, creating a white tail where ever it moved. Bridges dotted the river in several parts, with cars and buses gliding along them. My eyes following the river, I saw a large wheel that lit up with bright lights that changed colour every so often. Squinting, I could make out a clock face on a tower that sat opposite the wheel. But, squint harder as I may try, I couldn't make out the time of this place._

_ I sensed something was wrong before I even heard the sound. A loud scratching noise caught my attention and sent icy chills down my spine. I turned slowly on my heel to see where the noises were coming from. The noise was coming from a hunched figure in the far right hand corner of the cloud; its frosty coloured hair draped over its face, its hands scraping across the floor._

_ After a few moments of watching this figure, it stopped what it was doing, pulling its hands into its chest. A strange clicking noise vibrated through the air, presumably coming from its mouth. _

_ All of a sudden, its head jerked in my direction and I was able to see the face of my nightmares. It had a face of a young woman, and that's as far human it got. The whole figure was completely made out of ice. Everything, from the deep blue eyes, that glinted with hatred, to the long hospital gown that it wore. She was an ice figure, and she was going to kill me._

_ She jerked her body forward, testing each limb as if this was completely new to her. There was nothing I could do. I was frozen in complete fear, the deep blue eyes fixed upon me and they looked like they could see into your soul. Her eyes had glued me to the floor, nothing wanted to move._

_ By this point, she had quickly learnt how to use her legs and was now slowly shuffling my way. _

_ I scanned round the cloud to find try and find something that may have been of use. That's when I noticed a magnificent blue box placed in the far left hand corner of the cloud. _That wasn't there before_, I thought to myself._

_ A primal scream escaped the ice creature's mouth, causing me to jolt out of my thoughts and back into the real danger. Panic rising, I ran for the blue box, to see if the doors would open for me._

_ In a few strides, I was had made it to the box and repeatedly banged against the door for someone to hear me._

_ "Help me!" I cried, my hand becoming painful by the second as I banged harder and harder._

_I tried one final attempt at the door, banging with all my might, frantically screaming through its wooden doors. I shot a quick glance over my shoulder to see that the figure was almost on top of me. Its bony long hands stretched like claws to try and drag me somewhere. _

_My feet were glued to the ground. I couldn't move from my position, but only watch as the creature grabbed my wrist with its claws, pulling at my arm to follow it. Its grip was tight, banishing all the blood out of my hand._

_The creature dragged me with it as it backed to the edge of the cloud, the clicking sound coming from deep inside of its throat. _

_I heard behind me the swing of the doors opening. I snapped my head around to see that in the doorway of the blue box stood a young man, with a brown tweed blazer and a dark red bowtie. His eyes were wide with fear as I was dragged back even further._

_"Help me!" I screamed again, this time to someone that could do something. "Help meee!"_

_"Run, Clarke," the young man spoke, urgency in his voice. His body flew to step out of the doorway, but it looked like something was preventing him from leaving. "Don't let them catch you!"_

_"Stop talking in riddles and help me. I'm gonna fall!"_

_The ice creature was now only a few metres from the edge, the clicking noise on full blast, bursting my eardrums. Its grip tightened even further, specks of blood d trickling down my wrist where its sharp nails dug into my flesh._

_"Help me!" I cried for the last time, hoping that he would spring from his prison and run to save the day._

_"I can't, you're just going to hang on tight until you are found." The young man gave one final bash of his invisible wall, hoping that it would shatter for him. Not a chance. I was only drawn back further to my death. Defeat clearly in his body, his eyes looked straight into mine. "Remember and run."_

_The creature fell over the edge of the cloud. And I fell with it. Screaming._

I awoke from the dream before I hit the ground, with the ice figure's face etched into my mind. I shuddered at the thought, letting out a raspy breath of air. A soft creaking sound came from below me, and the world round me started to shake. I bolted upright to discover that I was lying in a small wooden room, on a cot that swayed with every small movement that I created. The legs must have been wonky in some places, possibly from built in a rush. The cot sat in the right-hand side of the room, nestled into the corner. To the side of the cot, a small table stood with various items perched on top of it; a large bowl full of water, tinged slightly red, with a discoloured cloth floating around in it.

My eyes soaked in the new surroundings, taking in every detail. With a blank mind, it seemed appropriate to fill it up with something so it didn't just feel like an empty space, but also it was a more pleasant memory than the ice creature that stalked me on the cloud.

Another shudder ran down my body, and I placed my hands across my chest to stop myself from shaking.

"Just think of something else," I whispered to myself, as I sat there in a shaking mess. I searched my blank mind, but there wasn't anything to distract me. I shook my head in foolishness as I knew that there wasn't enough memory to mentally distract me. I needed something physical.

I glanced down to look at my body, seeing what I looked from my eyes. A thin sheet covered my torso down, but from sitting up I could see that I was slim built, the shirt that I was wearing hanging loosely across the top half of my body. The shirt was a pale brown colour, its arms long sleeved. On my left arm, though, the shirt sleeve was rolled up to my elbow, and what replaced it was discoloured cloth that run down right to my wrist. I stroked it lightly, as if it was a small creature that needed my utter most care. The cloth felt bumpy in patches as I traced my fingers ever so lightly across it, painful at times when I pressed to hard. It was strange. I remembered the sticky feeling when I first noticed the blood on my arm, but now it was no longer there and the source of that red fountain came from below the bandage. I traced the edges of the cloth till I found what I was looking for. Carefully, taking the fraying end of the cloth, I started to unravel it to reveal what caused all the mess. Would there be a deep nasty scar that jagged along the inside of my arm? Or a tiny one that had no accuse to create that much mess?

I got about halfway when I heard the door click open. A gasp came from the doorway as someone dropped whatever they were holding onto the floor.

"Stop what you are doing!" the boy exclaimed as he rushed over and swatted my hand away from the bandage. Holding my left arm away from me, he mumbled a response that I couldn't quite catch.

"Sorry, what was that?" I asked.

He ignored me.

I asked again, this time a little louder.

His eyes flicked up to catch mine, but they looked down just as fast. I watched the boy as he carefully wrapped my arm with the bandage once more. He was a dark-skinned boy that had a nose the size of a fat lemon (what is it with me and noses?). His hair cut close to his head, where in a few patches it was shorter than elsewhere. He looked no older than sixteen, his face didn't look fully formed to be any older. His arms where muscular, but didn't wield the power that they could have shown.

"Ow." I yelped as the boy tightened the bandage firmly round my arm.

"Serves you right. Shouldn't have unravelled it in the first place," the boy muttered. Finished with his handy work, the boy rose from the cot and went over to collect the things that he had dropped only a few moments ago. He bent over and carefully picked up an orange bottle. Out of habit, the boy tightened the white lid making sure that it was secure. Satisfied, he placed the bottle on the table that sat next to another cot.

Brushing his hands on his trouser leg, the boy turned to face me, this time acknowledging me. A goofy smile crept across his lips as he stood there waiting for something to happen. I raised an eyebrow in response as he stood there. The boy became quite flustered with my response, and shuffled on his feet. After a few seconds, he made his way back over to me.

"The names Jeff," he said, stretching a hand out towards me, it shaking slightly. I eyed it cautiously before I took his hand and shook it. "What's your name, Greenie?"

"Um, obviously not Greenie. It's… um…Clarke,"

"Cool! We've been dyin' to know your name ever since you turned up." Jeff stated quite excitedly. "Did quite a runner, sprinted from the Box to the East Door in some lighting fast time. Would have made it through if you hadn't had your … you know … fit."

"Erm … thanks?" I replied back, unsure of what to really say. "I tried my best?"

"You tried your best?" Jeff repeated, a sense of disbelief in his voice.

"What?" I quickly interjected, my voice squeaking slightly. "Did I do the wrong thing?"

Jeff looked down for a moment, then turned away from me and went to go collect the orange bottle from the table in the far corner.

"Well," he started, picking the orange bottle up. "You almost broke the Number One Rule of the Glade."

"And what was that?" I questioned, worry creeping up inside me.

"_Never go outside the Glade, unless you're a Runner._" Jeff spoke in a robotic voice, like the words were seared into his brain.

"How was I supposed to know that, I've only just arrived," I mumbled through gritted teeth, fumbling the sheet that was still draped over my legs.

"Jeff, the Greenie up yet?" a familiar voice shouted from outside the doorway. "Alby wants to speak with her in the Gatherin'."

"Yeah, she's up." Jeff responded, putting the orange bottle back onto the table. He went to the door and opened it slowly, revealing a tall lean figure playing with a small knife. The boy in the doorway looked up and I immediately recognised who he was, his honey-blond hair gave it away. My stomach fluttered at the appearance of the boy, my face turning red slightly when the boy's gaze fell on me. _What is happening to me?_ I thought, ignoring the strange feeling that jumped around me.

I couldn't quite remember his name. Nathan? Neal? Noah? I was sure it began with a N.

"Newt, you needn't shout through the door. Talkin' normally works." Jeff sighed as allowed Newt enter the room. He patted Jeff's arm and signalled for him to scarper. He nodded and exit the room, closing the door behind him.

Turning to face me, Newt picked up the orange bottle from the table and made his way over to where I sat. What is it with boys and that particular orange bottle?

"So, Greenie," Newt started as he twirled the bottle in the air and caught it. "You've caused quite a problem when you jumped out of that Box."

My back straightened in fear as Newt crept ever so closer, the fluttering sensation in my stomach gone. I shuffled back slightly on the cot, crushing the back of my body against the board of the cot. He must have noticed my discomfort and stopped walking towards me.

"Don't worry, I promise I'm not like Gally and his crew," he said, mixing his words with a reassuring smile. I relaxed slightly, and let my shoulders go of their tight position.

_What are you doing?_ my mind screamed. _You don't know him. For all you know, he could be a twisted psychotic, hormone-driven boy!_ It was right but I chose to ignore it, after all, this was the same mind that told me to run through the Doors and escape.

"But, time is not on our side, and we need to get to that Gatherin' as fast we can.

"So," Newt said as he bent down to the side of my bed, placing a hand near my feet. He looked up with a sneaky smile, then plopped two brown, worn leather boots on my lap. "Lace these back onto your feet and will get moving."

Carefully, I pushed the sheet off my body and let my legs dangle over the side of the cot, brushing against the wooden planks that covered this floor. Placing the boots onto the ground, I slipped both feet into their right places. Then my mind went blank, I picked up the laces of one of my shoes but had no idea what to do with it. "I-I-I can't remember what to do," I said, my hands holding the laces without doing anything with them. I glanced up to Newt, who was now sitting close beside me, to find that he was smirking at me.

"This isn't funny," I snapped as I let the laces fall to the floor while my hands crossed over my chest. Newt was shaking uncontrollably as he fought to stifle his laugh. He shook his head, letting his golden hair fly over his shoulders. "Please, just do it for me."

"You are one crazy girl," he laughed as he bent down from the bed to tie my shoelaces. He took the end of the laces and started to tighten them around my boots.

"This is so embarrassing," I murmured into my hands, hiding my face away from this shameful experience.

A light tap on my leg brought me out of hiding in my hands. I peeked over my finger tips to see Newt's face only inches away from mine, that our noses where almost touching. I felt his warm breath tickle my face, sending electrifying twinges through my body. I lost myself momentarily in his deep dark, brown eyes that could see right into my soul. I was transfixed, they were very handsome eyes indeed.

"Right," Newt said, breaking the trance between us. "Time to go meet the rest of the gang."

He stood up from his crouching position on the floor and extended a hand my way. I took it gratefully, more electric twinges buzzing round my body. _What the heck is wrong with me?_ I thought as I pulled myself up from the bed.

That was probably wasn't the best idea I have had.

My legs buckled beneath me, weak with not being used for so long. I would have fallen to the floor if Newt hadn't grabbed me and stopped me from landing flat on my face. Instead, I fell into his chest with a small grunt. He smelt good, Newt. Very nice indeed. _Stop it, Clarke_ I thought. _Get a grip of yourself._

"Whoa there, girlie," Newt exclaimed, gently taking hold of my elbows, helping me to stand. "Legs not working right?"

I weakly nodded, embarrassed at what I had done. He only smiled in return. I felt one of his hands leave my elbow and snake to the middle of my back. Wide-eyed, I started to protest, trying to back away from what was happening. "It's okay, I'm only going to pick you up. Can I?" Newt asked, his voice soft.

I paused for a moment, but then quickly nodded (before my mind had a shouting match at me), and allowed him to place his hands underneath my knees and hoist me up into his chest.

"There, that's better. Wouldn't want you trippin' over yourself now, do we?" Newt said as he started to make his way out of the room that I had awoken in.

He trudged down a flight of stairs that opened into a large, dingy room that held a few chairs and a strange portrait of a woman. The woman looked to be at least in her early-sixties, her hair tightly knotted into a bun, a stern expression imprinted on her face. Her eyes followed me throughout the room, until we left through the open doorway.

The cool air refreshed my face, tickling my nose as Newt stepped onto the green grass. I sneezed violently as I breathed in too much of the air round me.

"Whoa, Greenie. The air not agreein' with you?" Newt asked.

"No, it just doesn't seem to agree with me. My eyes feel all watery, and I don't think I can … can … _ahhh, chew!_" I sneezed again in the middle of what I was saying. My eyes started to feel itchy and watery as a few tears rolled down my face. To the odd by-passer, it looked like I was crying uncontrollably, but I wasn't.

"You must 'ave attacks of the hay fever, a few of the other Gladers got it as well. Don't worry, I'll get Jeff to send for some antihistamines he has stocked up. It will help." Newt eyed me carefully as he kept walking towards the far corner of the enormous courtyard that was called the Glade. I spotted a large wooden shack in the corner of the walls with three boys guarding the outside doorway. The shack looked like it had been fumbled together quickly, with a few planks not fitting together properly.

"Newt, can you put me down, please?" I sniffed, wiping a hand to brush away the tears that didn't seem to stop flowing down my face. My nose was no better, it just kept dripping and dripping. Newt looked down at me for the briefest of moments, then nodded and carefully placed my feet onto the ground for which I could stand on. "Why does hay fever have to attack me now?" I groaned as I followed Newt to the wooden shack that he was taking me to. I tried to match my pace with his, but his strides were to long for my not-so-long legs to keep up with. I wasn't small, I just wasn't that tall, I think. I came up just about under his chin, maybe a little smaller. I'm not so sure.

Observing the Glade as I walked past, I spotted wooden pens that held chickens, pigs and more chickens. A large grove of trees bore to my right, as well as my left, creating long haunting shadows that danced when the wind rushed through the trees. The sky overhead was cloudless and a brilliant colour of blue, the sun hidden from view despite the brightness of the day – it could have been early morning or late afternoon.

"How long," I began quietly. "How long was I out for?"

"Two days," Newt responded. "That screamin' fit that you had scared the klunk out of us. We weren't sure if you would wake up again."

Sad eyes peered down to me from that boys face, the twitch of a small smile no longer evident in his lips. I must have really scared the … _klunk_ out of everyone if they seem to fuss over me the second I had awoken.

"Don't worry," I spoke cheerfully. "I'm up and walking, with a few problems. _Ah chew!_"

"We really need to get some of that medicine into you, you don't look good." Newt chuckled as he quicken his pace, which added a limp into every other step.

"I don't feel it either," I grumbled as I jogged to keep up with him.

After a couple of Newt-long strides, we made it to the wooden shack where the group of boys that I had spotted stood there waiting, one with a nasty scowl on his face. Ignoring the hard stare that the boy gave me, I watched as Newt bounded up to a short boy that had grey hair that already seemed to conquer his jet black.

He whispered something to the boy, and in return the boy stole a quick glance in my direction before giving a slow nod. "I'll get Billy to go get some from Jeff, she doesn't look right." The short boy brushed passed me, and called for the one that he named _Billy_. I didn't get to see who he was calling before I was whisked into the wooden shack with the two boys left.

One of them I recognised immediately, but it had taken a second to fully recover the name. Gally. That disgusting boy that had chased me out of the Box. He winked in my direction before he gave me a hard shove through the door, where I slammed into Newt's back.

"Gally" someone shrieked from further inside. I cringed from the sound, the noise making my insides flip with fear. Newt had spun around as soon as my body collided with the back of his. I felt my face redden violently as I took a step back from him. To my surprise, Newt only rolled his eyes in a disapproving manner, but they weren't for me. He grabbed my wrist, lightly, the electrifying twinges racing all over my body, and pulled me to a chair that sat in the middle of the room. He released my wrist and motioned for me to sit.

"Don't worry about him," he whispered for only my ears to hear. "Gally sometimes doesn't know how to control his emotions."

A disgusted look covered my face. Gally, not being able to control his emotions. Ew.

Newt stifled a laugh from witnessing my horrified look, before he gave a small wink and crossed over to a seat that sat near the centre of the semi-circle.

All the seats were now taken. Twelve boys sat out in front of me in a small semi-circle, a few with bewildered expressions on them. Some, well, let's not start on that.

Straightening my back so that I didn't slouch in the chair, I looked ahead of me to the boy that was sitting directly in front. His face felt familiar in some way. Of course, he was the one that had answered my question back when I was very, very confused. At the moment, I was on the border line of losing that second _very_.

He stood up from his chair, his demeanour presenting that he ran this place, possibly like a ship. I don't really understand that reference.

"Girlie, are you even listenin'? My name is Alby and I am the leader of the Gladers, who are you?"


	5. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_"You have nice manners for a theif and a liar," said the dragon ~ J.R.R . Tolkien_

* * *

"What's your name, Greenie?" Alby demanded, his face twitching from anger rising up from his stomach.

"Clarke," I squeaked in fear, trying not to let a tremble escape my lips. "Clarke. It's Clarke. Please stop shouting."

I watched as he lessened his intimidating stare aimed towards me, his shoulders slumping as the anger supressed within him. His eyes flashed over his shoulders to Newt, who shrugged in response.

"Why don't you like shouting, Clarke?" Alby inquired, dragging my name out, testing it out on his tongue.

"I can't remember," I answered him honestly. There was something about it when loud noises, a feeling that lingered at the back of my mind. Even with a blank mind, I could still hear a screaming voice ring through my head, rough hands round my neck. I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds to destroy that feeling. "Something bad always happens with shouting."

A few sniggers vibrated round the room, clearly finding my fear hilarious.

"It's not funny." I snarled, my own anger building up inside of me. I narrowed my eyes to the boys in front of me, daring one of them to laugh again. Oh how disappointed I felt when none of them did. Shaking the anger out of me, I returned my attention to Alby, directing my question only to him. "Where am I?"

Alby didn't seem faced by what had happened, only irritated that he had been interrupted. Taking a deep breath, he replied to my question.

"It's a long story," Alby said. "Piece by piece you'll learn – I'll be taking you on a tour when Clint 'ere releases you from the Med-Jacks."

"Why can't you just tell me now?" I pushed, confused as to why there was so much secrecy. "I'm sat here now, just spill the beans."

Alby glanced at his friends from behind him.

"Seriously," I repeat. "Where am I?"

Alby returned my gaze with a bemused face, he couldn't quite work something out. Maybe I had spoken the wrong words, hadn't played my cards right. After all, I was outnumbered greatly.

"If you ain't scared, you ain't human," he murmured, brushing his hand over his head. "You act any different, and I'll personally throw you off the Cliff because it'd mean you're a psycho."

"The what?" I stammered, blood drained from my face as I realised that I needed to hold back my tongue.

"Shuck it," Alby said, as he rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill shanks like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid _being_ killed, survive, whatever."

He paused for a moment, registering that my face drained from colour with every word that he spoke.

"Man," Alby said, then ran his hands over his short hair again, as he let out a sigh. "I ain't good at this – you're the first Greenbean since Nick died. To make matters worse, a girl. Never 'ave we encountered a problem before until two days ago when you're sorry arse showed up. Two years that Box been coming up with a new Greenie each month, all boys. Why send a girl? Why, actually, send you up a week before you're supposed to arrive?"

"I don't know anythin–"

"Of course you don't know anything," Alby interrupted, his face turning a light colour of red. "Your memories have been removed, we know that. But what we have to figure out is the reason behind your sudden appearance. There must be a very good reason behind it, and possible has somethin' to do with the message on your arm"

"What is on my arm?" I squealed, my fingers frantically searching for the end of the bandage that Jeff had hidden from me. Once I was able to find it, I quickly untucked it from its hidden place. Instead of gently unwrapping the cloth, I used all my force to rip it from my right forearm. Pain spiked through my arm as I reopened the wound that lay below the bandage. Trickles of blood dripped down my arm where I had reopened the wounds with too much force. I bunched the cloth into my hand and did my best wiping the red liquid away – my blood.

I was shocked, puzzled and confused. A large part of me expected a nasty red, blotchy jagged line that was horribly carved into my skin. In its phantom place sat two distinctive words that sparked an enormous curiosity into who I was before.

_Run. Remember. _

I whispered the words. Letting my fingers trace each letter, coating them in the wet liquid. These words were the ones that the man with the bow-tie told me. The ones that were seared into my mind as a warning, and here it was as a reminder to myself. This must have happened before I lost everything in that Box. Somehow, in some wild desperation, my former-self was able to relay a very cryptic message over to me. Damn, I made no sense.

It felt like strings were being pulled within me, my own mind surrendering to a foreign item to take over. I felt my hand squeeze the cloth tighter, until I felt my fingers whiten to the original colour of the cloth. An idea planted itself in my head, and I had an unnerving feeling to immediately detach myself from these words in any way possible. Brushing away the blood lightly at first, I realised that my pulled strings were going to make me rub this message from my arm, until it was fresh anew. The pain was unbearable, but I couldn't stop myself, I needed to remove myself from these words – now.

Oblivious to the commotion that erupted around me, I was taken by surprise when a firm grip took hold of my hands and forced one hand from the other. Peaking up, I saw a very worried Newt trying to restrain my arms from attacking one another again.

"Bloody hell, Clarke." he said, his grip on my hands tightening. "Ya seem to have a bad habit of causin' trouble round 'ere."

"I-I-I I just … don't want them. The words." I sniffed, my nose running like a fully operational waterworks. Hay fever is a bitch, it made me look weak here. "Do you have a tissue? My nose feels like it could flood this place if I don't somehow contain it."

"No, but Clint will have somethin'." Newt gestured for the short boy, which I had seen outside, to come over. Clint jumped from his chair, scuttling over to where I sat.

"Have any tissues in them pockets of yours?" Newt asked, his grip on my arms loosening slightly. "And where's Jeff with the medicine?"

"Jeff's waiting outside, you know he's not allowed in. But, I must have something." I watched as he rummaged through his pockets while he spoke, until his face lit up like a Christmas tree on a cold winter's night. "Jackpot."

Out came a ragged, brown piece of cloth that looked like it had been used few too many times. I scrunched my face up in disgust, but still took it as I was in a dire situation. I blew my nose, sneezed and then wiped the tears that poured down from my itchy eyes. "Thanks," I murmured.

"Yeah, I don't want that back," Clint said. "Now to sort your arm out."

I grumbled in response as I surrendered my arm for him to patch up for the second time today. Newt had been pushed out of his position of kneeling in front of me, and had sauntered back to his seat next to Alby, who had his arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face.

"In your own time, Clint." Alby said, a hint of irritation rising up in his voice as he glared my way.

"Just give me a sec, Alby. This takes time."

"You can do this later."

"_Ah chew_."

"What happens when she gets an infection?"

"She can hold on, it's not like she's going anywhere."

"That's not the point. Her arm is still bleeding."

"Alby, listen to him. Let him finish with her arm."

"Newt, don't get involved."

"Fine. I'm not gonna argue with ya, Alby. But I'm the Med-jack here, not you, and what I see in this area goes!"

Clint's words ran through the air, echoing through the room, piercing the empty spaces. Clint finished off with my arm, securing it a bit too tight that I flinched in response. His flickered to mine, a soft apologetic look that meant he didn't mean to hurt me, but only done out of frustration. Clint patted my arm lightly before he returned to his chair. Alby raised an eyebrow towards Clint, who in turn signalled for him to carry on.

"Right, will gloss over the message cause you're a bit on edge about it. But it doesn't mean it won't be discussed, Newbie. Movin' on, the Keepers and I have decided that seein' as you are a new Greenie, you will be going through the same initiation that all new Greenie's do. Everythin' works on a good sense of order, everyone does their part, no slackers. You understand?"

I nodded in agreement, fumbling with the bandage on my arm.

"Usually we start with the Slicers with Winston, but since you haven't been given the all clear by Clint for another day, you'll be there. Any objections say nay."

At this point, Alby had stood from his chair and was pacing along the line of Keepers, his hands behind his back. Once he had spoken his words, Alby turned to face the Council, waiting for any objections. A scratchy voice spoke up from the corner of the room.

"She can't be allowed to be with us. She almost broke the main rule, at least put her in the Slammer."

"Gally, if you're gonna suggest stupid–"

"I'm not doing anything of the sort, if she gets away with this then what example are we setting."

"Shut it, Gally. You're out matched."

"Why won't you listen to me? Order is what you push in the Glade–"

"Interrupt me one more time, and I swear I'll throw your arse into the Slammer instead of the Greenie's. Everyone agree, say I."

A chorus of I's erupted throughout the room, much to Gally's dismay. I squirmed in my seat, on edge from the screaming matches that went on. Clearly they had forgotten about my dislike to raised voices, all but a few. Clint and Newt looked to me with worried expressions drowning their faces. I bit into my lip, and closed my eyes, not realising that I had started to shake from this.

"Good that." Alby grumbled, a deeper scowl forming on his face. "We're done. Get back to what you're doing."

And with that, all the Keepers stood up from their chairs and filed out of the room. They left behind, me shaking in a chair, Alby pacing the room menacingly, Newt trying to calm him down and Clint bringing the medicine over. He reached out and passed me a glass of water and a tablet.

"Since we don't know how bad it is, just take one for now. If it gets any worse, find either me or Jeff." I took a swig of water and swallowed the tablet. Clint reached out to take the glass from me, but that was only before I had a few more sips. "One more thing, Greenie. Don't antagonise him, no matter how itchin' ya are to ask questions."

"Okay," I said, shakily rising to my seat to stand next to him. "What is it that I'm doing?"

"You're going on a tour. Good luck!" I watched Clint leave the shack, and wished that he would take me with him so that I could just go back to sleep. Being out for the past few days hadn't meant that I was resting. I felt more tired now than I did when I first woke up, and that was only about an hour ago. I'm not sure.

I turned to face Alby and Newt, who had stopped pacing the room, but had now taken to stand near the door waiting for something to happen. No, they were waiting for me to follow them over, as Newt had joined him as well.

I strode over to the doorway, making my strides Newt-long so I would get there quicker.

"Lead the way," I said, my hand motioning to outside the door to begin the tour of the Glade.

* * *

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the Glade, I was conducted a tour of it. I stood next to Newt, a bored expression on his face. Clearly, he had been through one too many of these things. My feet shuffled on the ground, knocking a few stones around as I waited for Alby to begin. He spread his arms out, palms facing upwards to the sky. "This place, as you may already know, is called the Glade. Got that? It's where we live, eat, sleep, work. We call ourselves the Gladers. That's all you–"

"Why is it called the Glade?" I asked, ignoring the advice that Clint had given me. "How'd–"

Alby's hand shot up before I could even finish what I was about to say, grabbing me by the cuff of my shirt tightly, making sure that I couldn't knock him away. "No interruptions, Greenie!" Alby shouted. I flinched, a tremor vibrating its way down my body. "Look, kid. I know that ya hate shoutin' and all, but if we told ya everythin' about this place, then a Bagger drag you off, and you ain't good to us then, are ya?"

Newt reached out and grabbed Alby by the shoulders. "Mate, lay off a bit. You're hurtin' more than helpin'. Maybe just lower the voice."

Alby huffed in response, and let go of my shirt taking some steps back, his chest heaving with breaths. I was glad the space between us had increased; reassured that the one trying to threaten me had backed off. "Ain't got time to be nice and fluffy, Greenbean. I'll respect the shoutin' thing round you. Annoy me again, and I won't be so nice. Old life's over, new life's begun. Whatever you did in the past doesn't matter no more. Learn the rules quick, listen don't talk. You get me?"

I gave a quick glance over to Newt to seek some help from trying to get out of this situation. "Clarke, you get him, right?" Newt nodded towards me, waiting for my compliance. There wasn't much I could do than to agree with what was said, either that or really antagonise Alby into doing something against me.

"Good that," Alby uttered. "First Day. That's what today will be for you shank, even if you 'ave been here longer. Night's comin', Runners'll be back soon. You woke up late today, we ain't got time to finish the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after we wake-up." He turned towards Newt. "Get her to bed, get her to sleep."

"Good that," Newt said.

Alby's eyes returned to mine, narrowing. "A few weeks, you'll be happy, shank. You'll be happy and helpin'. None of us new jack on the First Day, you neither. There is a mystery behind you, and that mystery we will solve."

Alby turned and stormed off, heading towards the slanted building in the corner. Nothing was said for a long time as both Newt and I stood there. My head sunk, eyes staring at the cracked rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade.

"Chuck'll be a good fit for ya," Newt said, breaking the silence. "Wee little fat shank, but nice sap when all's said and done. Stay here, I'll be back."

Newt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone Glade; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. I felt my blood turn to icy slush as I realized the horrible sound came from the wooden building that I had been in. My hands through themselves to cover my ears, fingers digging into the side of my head. I closed my eyes, taking in large gulps of air in the process. A soft whimper escaped my lips as I still heard the screams echo round the Glade.

"Hey, hey," Newt's muffled voice spoke, his voice soft and unthreatening. "It's fine."

I shook my head vigorously, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. It was not fine, nothing was fine. The screaming reminded me of an unknown form, a fear that I did not have. Shouting puts me on edge, but screaming is a whole other topic entirely. And what makes it even more terrifying, I don't know what it is exactly that I am so afraid of.

"Nothing's fine." I whisper, sensing a tremble running through my hands. "I'm scared of people shouting and screaming. How is that fine?"

"Everyone is scared of somethin', ya just need to understand that the screams aren't a threat."

"A threat?"

"Yeah," Newt said, his voice never rising above its softness. "Right now, you feel threatened. Probably why you asked Alby to stop shoutin' back at the Gatherin'."

"Threatened is not a word I would use."

"Then, what?"

"Afraid." I said bluntly, slowly moving my trembling hands away from ears. "But, it doesn't matter."

Newt eyed me carefully, judging every part of me. It took me a second to realise that he wasn't in fact judging, but waiting. Waiting for me to calm myself, giving me the space to feel comfortable in.

"I have to go help them," he said after a minute of silence. He patted me on the arm softly, trying not to scare me away. "Find Chuckie, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements."

With a sympathetic glint in his eye, Newt turned on his heel and headed in the direction of where the screams came from.

Left alone in this vast place, I made my way over to a tree and slid down the rough face. I shrunk back against the bark, wishing I could wake up from this terrible nightmare I found myself in.


	6. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_If music be the food of love, play on. ~ William Shakespeare_

* * *

_A man stood before me in a small metal corridor, leaning against a wall that dripped with water. Red lights flashed around the corridor, illuminating the darkest parts a crimson colour, banishing the blue from sight. I allowed myself to take a deep breath in that I did not know that I was holding. The air, it wasn't clean, not by a long shot. It tasted old and used, like I was breathing in someone else. _

_ The corridor I stood in seemed to be too small, too much metal. The walls closing in somehow. A strange rushing noise echoing, bouncing around. A strange ominous sound that I couldn't quite recollect the source. _

_ Drifting my eyes from studying the corridor, they fell onto the hunched old figure in the corner that was leaning against a wall that dripped with water. He was not much taller than me, but the man was not standing to his full height. His hair, greying in places, yet was longer than what seemed appropriate for what he wore. That being, a grey army blazer with an odd, red anchor symbol sewn onto his left breast pocket, and matching trousers to complete his attire. This man couldn't be a solider, for he had no weapons. So, who was he exactly? _

_ The man didn't seem too surprised at my sudden appearance into the corridor, he never even stole a glance to understand why a young girl unexpectedly popped up out of nowhere into this strange place. Instead, he fumbled with his hands, his chest heaving in and out as he struggled to regain his breath. Had he been running far?_

_ "Oh, this is a young man's game, all this dashing about," the man softly spoke. After a second, the man glimpsed up, and I saw into the eyes of a man that had seen the world collapse in front of them far too often for one to actually bare. "Clara, what's wrong?"_

_ "I was doing okay. I mean, I went in there and did the scary stuff, didn't I?" I answered with a hushed tone that only he would be pick up on. "I went in there with the … thing, and it went okay. Right? No, actually, it went just as badly as it could have done. But, that wasn't my fault. Was it?"_

_ "No, not at all."_

_ "So, I should be happy about what happened."_

_ "Yes. Indeed you should. So what is the matter?"_

_ "The bodies that we passed back there. The ones of all the soldiers." My voice quietened even further, only coming out as a soft whisper that even the man had to crane to understand what I spoke. "It's all got very real, hasn't it? Are we going to make it?"_

_ The man's eyes softened in the way when people try to tell a lie to hide the real truth. This man was hiding something from me, something deeply important. _

_ "Yes, of course we are," he replied, his lip curling into a masked smile. _

_ A shudder vibrated the corridor that we stood in, causing my shoulder to slam hard into the metal wall that I was hovering near. I groaned in response, rubbing the bruised area with my hand. That was sure going to leave a nasty mark. _

_ "You okay over there?" The man asked as he picked himself up from the ground, brushing away the water that was now soaking heavily into what was his once grey uniform. The water dripped down the side of the walls faster now, small puddles forming at the bottom that all trickled down the corridor into one specific corner. Strange? Water didn't usually do that._

_ A loud growl echoed through the corridor, the sound jumping from the top of the room to the bottom. This was nothing like I had heard before. _What in the world was that?_ I thought, as a tremor ran down my back. Fear crept into the creaks of my bones, and I slowly turned to face the man now in front of me. "What was that?"_

_"The Doctor told you. It's just the boat settling," he replied, a little too quickly for my liking. "Tell me about yourself. What do you like doing?"_

_"Stuff," my mouth answered for me. "You know, stuff."_

_"Stuff. Very enlightening" he replied, shaking his head with curiosity. "And the Doctor, what he said. Is it true that you are from another time? Our future?"_

_"Erm, yes." I responded. An unsettling feeling washed over me, tuning all my senses into running away from where I stood. My internal radar was sensing that something bad was going to happen, but what it was I did not know. Automatically, my feet shuffled away from the man, edging towards the far wall. Bounding footsteps echoed down the corridor, blended with shouts of men and gunshots to which my soul leaped out of my body. I gasped, my hand flying to my chest. A small whimper escaped my lips as fear crept further and further into my cracks. The man had mentioned that we were on a boat, but does a boat sound like that? Am I on a sinking boat?_

_"Tell me what happens." The man edged closer to me, his eyes wide, hiding a hidden warning. _

_"I can't." I snapped._

_"Well, I need to know."_

_"I'm not allowed._

_"No, please!" the man pleaded. _

_"I can't!" I yelled._

_"__Screeech.__"_

_I froze in fear, my eyes wide, my feet glued to the ground. A quiver erupted in my fingertips, snaking its way through my hand. The man stopped as well, his hands frozen in place, his eyes also wide. "What … what was that?" I whispered, my voice cracking from fear._

_"The … the boat. Re-remember. L-l-like the Doctor said." the man stuttered._

_"That was not the boat." A drop of water landed on my head, trickling through my hair and snaking its way down my back. I let out a breath of air that I did not know I was holding. _

_"Please, just answer my question." The man spoke, trying to distract me from whatever was in the room. "Ultravox, do they split up?"_

_The man gave an uneasy laugh, releasing the thick tension in the air. You have got to be kidding me. All this pestering for a band that I did not know even existed. Wait, how did I know it was a band?_

_"Funny. You're funny." I laugh nervously, a smile cracking my lips. I shakily run a hand through my hair. __That's strange__, I thought as I pull my hand away from my hair. That was definitely not water on my head, water was not sticky. I pulled my hand (with the 'water' still attached to it) as far as it would go to discover, to my horror, that it was covered in a green smelly slime. _

_That's when it happened. Two slimy green hands grabbed me, locking its fingers around the sides of my head tightly. I could only let out a gasp as fear locked everything into place._

Something light tapped the end of my foot, jolting me from the green slimy hands. I peered up to see a small boy watching me, a curious expression creasing his face. Picking myself up from the floor, I ran a hand through my hair, it was dry. A sense of relief flooded me. That was only a dream.

A metallic clicking sound caught my attention, and I stole a glance to the branches of the tree that I was now standing next to. A flash of silver and red light caught my eye just before it disappeared around the tree trunk to the other side.

"That's one of them beetle blades," the young boy said.

Taking one last look at the now dark branches, I turned to face the kid that had awoken me. He was short and pudgy, looked no older than twelve or thirteen – probably the youngest of the group that I have seen so far. His brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tips of his shoulders. Blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed.

I nodded towards him, my hands flinching towards my head. "A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," the boy repeated, pointing towards the top of the tree. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused. "Shank." He didn't seem too comfortable saying that last word, as if he hadn't quite grasped the slang that the Gladers use.

Another scream, this one long and nerve grinding, tore through the air. My heart lurched from its position in my body. The fear like icy dew on my skin, cold and known. "What's going on over there?" I asked pointing to the building that I had resided in for a few days.

"Don't know," the chubby boy replied; his voice still carried the high-pitchness of childhood. "Ben's in there, sicker than a dog. They got him."

"They?" I asked, curious as to why the boy used the word so maliciously.

"Yeah."

"Who are They?" I repeated, annoyed that he avoided my question.

"Better hope you never find out," the kid answered with a sneaky grin. He held out his hand. "The name's Chuck. I was the Greenbean until you showed up. Now you are the Greenbean, I think. You did arrive early."

Chuck looked down at his feet and knocked them together, clearly quite embarrassed. Dancing around on the spot, he was itching to show me something, the way that he glanced around at specific sections of the Glade. Chuck was a kid, only a small kid. Why would anyone want to send him up to this cruel place? He should be out there in the outside world. If there was an outside world.

Another scream came from the building, a sound like a starving animal being tortured. "Will he be alright?"

"He'll be fine. No one dies if they get back in time to get the Serum. It's all nothin'. Just hurts a lot, so have I heard."

"What hurts a lot?"

Chuck's eyes wandered from looking at me to the looking into the distant, as if he was deciding what to say next. "Um, gettin' stung by one of those Grievers."

"Grievers?" This kid was making less and less sense with every word that he spoke. Each word that he used held a heavy weight of dread to them. Dread I was not so sure that I wanted to learn about.

"You ask a lot of questions," Chuck finally replied, again avoiding the question that I asked. He doesn't know. Or, maybe he does. Curiosity, the bane of my life.

"Chuck, out of curiosity, how … how old do you think I am?"

The boy scanned me up and down. He scrunched up his face, determining the perfect answer to reply with. "I'd say you're about seventeen, maybe older. Taller than me … long brown hair, skinny with…" Chuck leaned in closer into my face, trying to determine all the inches of it. "With blue eyes."

I was stunned to silence, that I had barely listened to the last part that he said. Seventeen? Possibly older. I didn't feel that age, I felt older. As if I had witnessed everything, but missed it at the same time. I felt a sense of dread trying to sneak in, but searching my blank mind I couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why I felt this.

"Are you serious?" I paused, searching for the right words to say. "How…"

"Don't worry. You may be whacked for a few days, but you'll get used to it. The rest of them have sort of heard the news that there is a girl 'ere, and there calling you all sorts of names more than Greenie or Newbie. So, what is your name, I've been dyin' to know."

"Oh … er…" I started, taken back by what Chuck said. Everyone already knows about me, and they're already calling me names. I have only been here a few days and I'm already the centre of attention. Not what I was looking for, and it seems that my fuzzy memories were telling me the same as well, I don't like standing out. I look back at Chuck, his big eyes asking me to reply with my name.

"Clarke."

"Nice to meet you, Clarke. Now to find a sleepin' place to put ya in. I have a few ideas, but first, let's eat! I'm starved." Chuck exclaimed gleefully. He jumped on his the balls of his feet and made for a set of tables placed outside by the wooden building where the screaming came from.

With a sigh, I slowly made it after the delighted kid, taking my steps carefully but fast enough so that I wouldn't lose him. It took longer than expected to get where Chuck went. Even though it wasn't that far for everyone else, it was for me. Only just waking up, and going through a very sudden attack of that hay fever made walking a little hard.

I got about halfway to my destination when I stopped for a breath. Two days of being out does nothing for some people. I felt awkward standing in the middle of the Glade, the odd person out. No one came to help me, not even the closest boys. They ignored the lone figure and carried on with what they were doing. _Charming_, I thought to myself.

"Standing alone in the middle of the Glade, is little Greenie lost?" came a voice from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Newt walking towards me, a smug expression on his face.

"Wait?" I asked, confused. "Didn't you go to that building?"

"Yes," Newt stopped walking towards me, his hands on his hips.

"Then why are you coming from behind?"

"Oh, Greenie. You have much to learn about this place."

"Yes, well, that's great." I say, frustrated that whenever I ask a simple question all to one of these boys, they answer with a goddamn riddle. "Chuck's gone that way. Look, I've lost him now. You know what … urgh, this place."

"Whoa there, girl–"

"The names Clarke." I snapped, my fist balling.

"Fine, _Clarke_." Newt said, dragging my name out maliciously. "You just gonna stand there, or you gonna follow Chuck?"

"I was going after him, but as you can see he's run off." I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Newt seemed decent, but he could be sure as hell irritating. I turned on my heel, my hair flipping over my shoulder, and started to pick up my pace again towards where I last saw the young lad. A few steps later, Newt had joined me at my side, walking in rhythm with me.

"So, Greenie," Newt started. "What do you think of the place so far?"

"Big."

"_Big?_ Any other, you know, _descriptive_ words that you want to use?"

"Very big."

"Any others?"

"_Irritating._" And with that I quickened my pace even further before I could hear the response.

Behind me, I heard a loud "Hey!" escape his lips, and I could only silently giggle as I closed in on the area that I saw a flock of curls bounce away.

A few picnic benches were littered around the outside of the large building that I had been taken from earlier today. The tables were empty, but a short queue had started to form outside one particular area. With a keen eye, I spotted exactly who I was looking for. Snaking away from the tables, I jogged up to the smallest figure at the back of the queue.

"For someone so small, you walk so bloody fast." I said, patting the shoulder of Chuck. He jumped three feet from away from me and crashed into the back of a taller boy in front.

"Watch it." The boy in front growled, his hand twisting menacingly around his metal plate. He caught my eye briefly, before he gave an exasperated sigh and turned his back on us. I swear for the briefest of seconds I saw him flex his muscles, but I only shook my head and focused my attention back on Chuck.

"Ignore them," Chuck softly spoke, a warm smile on his face. "Sorry about not waiting, you should have said somethin'."

"It's fine," I said. "Clearly, I am either really unfit, or just too goddamn tired. I'm gonna go with tired."

"You know, you sound funny," Chuck said, crooking his head to the side.

"Erm," I say, taken back by this sudden change of subject. "Sound funny, how?"

"Like Newt." And that was all was said when a sharp bell rung through the air and the boys in front all moved forward one space. Chuck jumped in delight, his eyes sparkling.

"What's got you all worked up?"

"Frypan's makin' some really good lunch today, to celebrate you waking up. Don't know what it is, but I've heard it gets better with every new Greenie that turns up."

The queue moved forward.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"How come I don't have a plate?" I asked, gesturing my open hands.

"Yeah," Chuck said, looking around the area we were standing in. "I'll best go find one then. Stay 'ere." He placed his metal plate into my arms, before scampering off into the wooden building that lay next door.

The queue moved forward once more, and I filled the space that Chuck had left behind. A few more boys joined the queue, all with similar metal plates in their hands, hunger sparkling in their eyes. They all talked between one another, whispering remarks, laughing, lightly shoving at each other. It felt like a pack of crayons, me standing there in the queue. They were the ones that were used the most, the colours that all the kids picked and fight over. My crayon was the one long forgotten, shoved in the packaging and accidently thrown away with it. The forgotten, lone colour crayon that no one uses.

"Didn't know that they were sending up hot Greenies now?" a boy loudly said to his friend next to him, laughs erupted around him. My face burnt red, and I bent my head in embarrassment. I shuffled on my feet, kicking a few stones around trying to ignore what was going on behind me. I hugged the metal plate to my chest, squeezing it so tightly my knuckles turned white as snow. "Do ya think there will be sendin' more up?"

"I hope so!" A few more laughs erupted behind me as I shuffled forward in the queue. Oh how I wished that Chuck would hurry up. It isn't that hard to find plate, is it?

My prays answered, a few moments later the curly-haired boy pounded out of the building with a triumphant look splattered across his face. His shirt was crumbled slightly round the front, as if he had been shuffling on his stomach round the whole room. In his hand he held a metal plate that was similar to his and the others around.

"I looked high and low," Chuck said, as he shook the plate in front of me. He whispered the last part. "And I found one."

"You going to give it to me?" I asked, holding his plate in front of him so that we could switch. He took his and I took mine.

The queue move forward and I was greeted to boy that had a full beard and hair that stuck out all over his body. To someone like me, he didn't seem the most likely person to take charge of the kitchen. Frankly, this boy didn't seem the most sanitary guy in the whole Glade to oversee all of the cooking. But, judgements is not the wisest path to take if I was going to try and somehow fit into this place.

"How's to goin', Chuck?" the boy asked as he poured a strange orange liquid with lumpy bits in it. "Made friends with the new…"

The boy paused for a moment, his mouth hanging open, the orange liquid dripping from his spoon back into the pot.

"…girl?" he finished putting his spoon back into the pot. The boy took my plate from my hands and placing what he had in the pot onto my plate.

"I should stop fallin' asleep in Alby's Gathering's," he muttered to himself, putting more food on the plate. "The name's Frypan, anyway."

I nod in response holding my hands out to take back the plate that was taken from me. He gives the plate back to me with a toothy grin that lit up his face. Under all that hairy casing, Frypan was a friendly character that I was sure I was going to find a friend out of.

"Hey," Frypan calls as I turn to follow Chuck to a picnic table. "Never got yours, Greenie?"

"Clarke." I smile back, but not a toothy grin that he gave me, just a small one.

I bent my way through the tables to find Chuck sitting on his own on the farthest one away. He didn't seem too bothered by this as he hungrily ate into his food. I carefully placed my plate on the table, and sat on the bench that was opposite him.

"Glad you seem to like the meal," I cheerfully said, watching a bit of the orange liquid trickled down the side of his face. He looked up with his bright blue eyes, a warm grin on his face.

"Well, Frypan doesn't do this often, so you better savour it." Chuck stuffed more food into his mouth, bits missing it entirely. I stared down at my plate that was over filling with food that I recognised but had no names to. The smell was unbearable, and a loud grumbling sound erupted from my stomach. When was the last time that I had eaten?

"For your information, its beans, eggs and bacon for lunch today." A plate appeared beside me, with the same food on it that I have. My eyes follow the arms to see that Newt had placed himself beside me. "Thought you could get rid of me, Greenie."

"I'll try harder next time," I joked, picking up a piece of bacon between my fingers. I took a large bit of it, the taste sending my taste buds tingling. My stomach growled louder as it waited impatiently for the food to be swallowed. "I haven't tasted anything so delicious in my life." I exclaimed, devouring the bacon until it was only a memory.

"You know, this ain't anythin' special. Just somethin' to celebrate you turning up."

"It's special to me, since I can't remember the last time I ate." I said gently, wiping the last reminisce of food that was on my plate. I licked my lips in satisfaction, letting the taste linger in my mouth for as long as it would. The temptation to lick the plate clean was there, and honestly I would have done it, but I chose not to for the fear that I would eat the plate as well. "What do I do now?"

"Well," Newt started, finishing the food in his mouth. "Clint hasn't cleared you yet, so you're going back there to rest some more."

"Rest," I breathed, a tinge of disappointment in my voice. "Rest where? I haven't found anywhere to sleep yet."

"That's what ya gonna do now with Chuck." Newt signalled for Chuck to finish with what he was doing. "You should start in the Homestead." As he said this, he pointed to the building everyone seemed to be going in and out of, and also the place where I heard the screams came from.

"Yes," Chuck chirped as he leapt from his seat, eager to find a sleeping place for me. "Let's go!"


	7. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

* * *

_Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good Luck. ~ The Tenth Doctor_

* * *

Chuck found the first empty room in the Homestead and declared that it was mine. No questions. I was to stay in that room until Clint gave the all clear, whenever that will be. Chuck had stayed with me for a little while, explaining life within the Glade, what is expected of me, the nitty-bitty details of what is where. I found out that the showers were communal. I think my eyes would have fallen out of my head with them so wide.

It was right there and then that I decided that the shower block was off limits for me. Big time. And I think Chuck enjoyed my moment of horror. He collapsed laughing on the bed, his eyes tearful with amusement.

"You should look at yourself in the mirror," he spluttered through his fit of laughter. The only reason that I was able to crack a smile was because of the kid falling of the bed from laughing too hard, and then just continuing for another minute.

Chuck was a bit loud, I mean, I could have heard him down the other end of the Glade if I wanted. Which, someone did. Clint did. He burst through the door to my small room and demanded that Chuck leave at once and get back to what he was doing. All enjoyment stopped there, and Chuck ruefully left the room, his shoulders slumped over as he dragged his feet across the wooden room.

"Seriously, Chuck." Clint demanded. "Go!"

I felt sorry for the kid. He was consistently being ordered around by the older Gladers, telling him what to do and what not. Trust me, he was annoying as hell, but he knew how to have a laugh; being around him seemed to lighten up the day in some way.

All that happened four hours ago. I had been in this room for four hours, supposedly resting from waking up. But, I had theories. Too many theories.

Theory 1: They have locked me in the room until they know what to do with me.

Action 1: Door open, nothing outside.

Theory 2: They don't want my help.

Action 2: Can't really do any yet.

Theory 3: They actually wanted me to rest.

Action 3: Listen.

Rest was the last thing that I wanted to do. If I was going to get nightmares like that every time my eyes shut, I did not want to sleep. Ever.

To pass time, I sat on the small wooden cot that was placed into the corner. It was of simple make, like the one that I had woken on. But instead of thin sheets draping over the top, a navy sleeping bag rested on a ratty mattress, crumpled and tear-stained.

My first instinct was to check if the sleeping bag was clean. I grabbed the top of it, flipped it inside out and patted it down the inside with my hand checking for dust or and hidden surprises. I'm sure that it was clean, but it was an old habit that I seem to have had that told me to check everything. So, I did. No idea why.

I traced my fingers across the white-washed walls, feeling for any unusual bumps. Satisfied that the walls were just ordinary, I bent down and took a quick look under the bed. This went on for a few hours. I must have gone through every nook and cranny of this room trying to find something. By the time I eventually rested on the bed, I had at least moved each piece of furniture twice from its place.

"Well that was pointless," I whispered to myself, my vision blurred as I lay on top of the sleeping bag. Everything I seemed to do was a bit pointless really. Why was I even here? What was the point of my arrival?

Questions and more questions circled round my head, questions that I had no answers to, and probably never will. It hurt my head after a while the constant questioning. Why were there so many questions? Stop with the questions.

Anyway, the point was that I felt hugely out of place here. I was greatly outnumbered and my only comfort was a sleeping bag that I swear moved without me even touching it.

Checking the room wasted a few hours; it meant that I wouldn't have to go to sleep and face the nightmares that I had. I took to sitting by the window watching what the Gladers did every day. A few tended the gardens, some building and others were too far off for me to see what exactly they were up to. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, all had their own jobs that must be completed here. Despite being in a place that is unknown to most, these boys were able to create a society for themselves in the bleakest of moments.

The only problem was, where would I fit into this ordered society that they created? I was like a spanner in the works. Here to obviously upset the system.

A knock at the door dragged me out of my thoughts, and I turned to face the figure with golden hair that had entered my room.

* * *

Two weeks I would spend finding out what job I was good at. Then that was it. Two weeks to find something that I was good at to keep order within this society. Newt had explained it all to me, mentioning all the jobs that I would go through and who were the Keepers for them. The names for the jobs were simple but unusual.

The very next day I spent with the Med-jacks, learning about all that they did there. Their time was spent with me was strained as both had to watch over the Ben-kid, the one had been stung the day I woke up. Of course, a Greenie like me was not allowed to know any of that delicate information, so instead I sat out in front of the Homestead trying to learn medicine names and what each did.

Terrible isn't even a word that could describe how bad I was trying to remember everything. At one point, Jeff threatened to walk out on me if I kept getting everything wrong. Luckily for me, Frypan's bell had saved the day and I snuck away from Jeff before he could even say anything to stop me. The latter part of the day was spent cleaning tools and strips of bandages. Both of the Med-jacks had given up by the end of the day, knowing full well that I was better at being the patient than the actual doctor.

By the second day, Alby had decided to place me within the Kitchens to see if I would have any better luck there. Frypan greeted me with open arms and immediately set me to work with the other kitchen staff, Frankie and Jack. All were nice and all were super conscious of being clean. My hands were rubbed raw, with Frypan insisting that they should be cleaner than clean and me struggling to get away from the sink.

"Enough," I cried at one point, "they're clean!"

Let's just say that everything went downhill from there. Unlike my experience with the Med-jacks, what happened within that Kitchen was a matter of near explosion. I burnt mostly everything that I was tasked to prepare (even the water); something exploded in the oven and a carrot caught fire. Somehow, Frypan was able to stay calm with me, not once freaking out when I ruined perfectly good food. The one thing that I managed to get right was a soufflé that was flawless with every part. Don't ask how I knew what to do, I didn't; it was all second nature. Frypan was so incredibly shocked at this new found discovery; he couldn't quite fathom words to express how shocked he was. There was no explanation into how I was able to make a soufflé so simply, but botch-up everything else. By the end of the day, I knew, once again, I was not destined to work within the Kitchens. It went so far that Frypan banned me from going anywhere near an oven with a cup of water.

My third day, I was placed under the care of the Keeper of the Gardens. I questioned Alby at the beginning of that day, asking why I wasn't going in order. He only grunted in response and brushed me away. The Keeper of the Gardens, Zart, was a nice boy, but very quiet. He was quite tall and broody with a long face and blue droopy eyes, which seemed to make him look like he was consistently bored. Upon being greeted to him, I couldn't help but scrunch up my nose, the boy smelled strangely of sour milk. Guilt riddled away at me afterwards as Zart seemed to have been upset by this action.

To make up for the rude welcome I worked as hard as I possibly could. I listened, weeded and bashed what I was told to do. When lunch came around, I was exhausted. I didn't even have the strength to talk to Chuck, who tried to make conversation with me. If I was to be a gardener, then I probably would complain, every day, till the day I die. I had nothing against the work, it just was so tiring.

Over the past couple of days, I had been noticing that the Gladers had become more and more accustomed to my presence. Many still stared whenever I stood somewhere too long. At first, it felt like I would shrink in on myself, collapse into the unknown. I would cower beneath my long hair, brushing the side to cover my face, to stop the eyes. It worked for a bit, but I couldn't have done it forever, eventually I would have had to face the eyes.

"I can't do anything," I moaned to Chuck after I had finished my food.

"Come on, Clarke," Chuck said, placing his fork back onto the table. "It isn't all that bad. Trust me."

"Trust you!" I repeated in surprise. "Chuck, I have been banned from going near the oven because I almost blew it up. That sounds bad to me."

Chuck opened his mouth to reply, then decided not to and closed it again. We sat there in silence for a few moments more before he finally spoke up again. "Wait two weeks, then you'll see bad."

I only rolled my eyes at that response thinking that he was making a joke out of the situation. Little did I know, he was somehow warning me of what was to come. I ended my conversation with Chuck rapidly after that, putting away my plate and heading back to another few hours of hard labour.

My legs weren't in the mood to travel that hard labour, so decided to take a different route from where I was expected to go.

I snuck around the edge of the Glade, trying to make sure that I wasn't noticed by anyone until a loud blaring noise erupted suddenly through the quit Glade. All eyes directed themselves at the Box, and a few boys started to make their way over. I edged into the glade of trees to watch what would happen next.

Thirty minutes later, I observed as Gally jumped down to open the doorway to reveal what had arrived in the Box. A chorus of cries erupted from the group around the Box as more Gladers ran to join them. I was tempted to go to see what was going on, but that meant being dragged away afterwards to carry on with working within the gardens. And I did not want to do that.

I was unable to make out what the Gladers were saying to each other, but my questions were finally answered when a tall figure broke from the group and ran for it. He got so far before he tripped over his feet and face-planted the ground. All the Gladers broke out into fits of laughter, some clutching their sides from the pain of laughing too much. A giggle escaped my lips as I watched the boy humiliate himself in front of everyone.

Sure, I did the same thing, but I managed to get further then he did.

Watching from my hideout, Alby walked to the boy and picked him up, giving him the same speech he gave to me and every new Greenie that turned up here. From what I could see, the kid looked scared, he didn't take warmly to Alby and seemed to ask a lot of questions. Newt tried, and in some sense was successful; a handshake was all that came out of that new friendship.

By this point, Alby had stormed away from where the kid stood, heading towards the Homestead in a fury passion. With his sharp temper, the new Greenie was sure to set it off with all the questions that would be demanded to be answered; where he was, why he can't remember anything, what the hell was going on? All the questions that seemed logical to ask and demand, but questions that would end up on the wrong side of Alby; known from experience.

I glanced back at Newt and the Greenie, noticing that they seemed to be talking intently, my best guess was that Newt was trying to calm the poor thing down. It isn't pleasant being dumped here with no idea of who you are, and then embarrass yourself. We had all experienced it, and we had all taken it with a different approach. To me, this new Greenie seemed to be able to recollect himself well, not showing any problems that he may kluncked his pants.

"No, don't do it," I whispered to myself as I watched Zart walk up to where Newt stood, a puzzled look on his face. I knew exactly what he was going to ask and that was my queue to scram or be found.

I went to turn on my heel when a heart wrenching scream erupted through the Glade, startling me in my position. I knew instantly that it was Ben again. The Serum had taken a long time to heal him from being stung. No matter what anyone said, his Changing was taken longer than expected, and it wasn't the most pleasant thing to listen. I had got used to it eventually; I learnt to drown out the sound so that it was non-existent, pushing away the reaction to creep in on myself and close off the world. Accept it and deal with it. That's what I learnt to do.

I drifted into the woods behind me, letting the shadow consume my figure entirely. As I slowly did this, I watched as Alby crashed through the door of the Homestead along with Newt, who trotted in close behind. They both went to see help with Ben, who was 'sicker than a dog'.

Sweet Chuck seemed to help the situation with his cute little smile and his infectious behaviour. He bounded up to the Greenie, helping him up from the floor, explaining the way of the Glade with exaggerated hand movements. He gestured towards each part of the area, possibly explaining what we do here and how it is done.

I watched as the new Greenie pushed past Chuck and wonder over to the Homestead to which the screams had come from. Curiosity was etched into the boy's stance as he took his steps carefully. Chuck raced after him, running in front of the Greenie that towered over him. But, he was only swatted away for attempting to stop the advancement.

I followed the pair from my hiding place, for no one had discovered me yet. I stayed well within the tree line, making sure that I wasn't seen by any. I had to jog to keep up with them so that I could get within ear shot of the words that were exchanged between them.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Chuck said. "I've been here a whole month, and I know the place inside and out. You can count on Chuck, okay?"

The Greenie had almost reached the front door of the shack when he turned around to stare Chuck in the face. "You can't even tell me anything. I wouldn't call that taking care of me." He turned back towards the door, intent on going inside.

Chuck only shrugged at this comment. "Beats me. Nothin' I say does any good," he said. "Clarke still goes against what I said not to do. But that doesn't matter, cause I'm still a Newbie and I can be your friend–"

"I don't need friends," Greenie interrupted. He reached for the sun-faded wooden door and entered within the Homestead to discover his fate, leaving Chuck outside.

I emerged from my hiding spot, the dark shadows pushed away from me until I lit up like a firefly, blazing in the night. I went and stood next to the shocked Chuck, who seemed upset about the encounter.

"It's alright," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm still your friend."

Chuck flinched away from my gesture, pulling his shoulder from under my hand. "Jeez Clarke," he gasped, looking up with wide eyes. "We need to get a bell on you."

"Did I scare you?" I playfully ask.

"Nah," Chuck said with a smile. "I'm as tough as nails."

"So," I started, changing the subject. "Who's the new Greenbean?" I motioned to the Newbie that was standing in the room, near to where Gally and his gang were hanging out by the crooked staircase.

"Thomas." Chuck answered.

"Thomas," I whispered, the name familiar in some way. "No nickname for him then?"

"Nickname? Why does he need a nickname?" Chuck asked.

"You know, the way that all your names…" I trailed off as I saw that he was no longer interested in the conversation that we were having. I followed his eye line to see that Gally and his troop had the Newbie surrounded. Gally jerked a thumb in the direction of the upper floor, then crinkled his face and crossed his arms.

"I've seen you before. Something's fishy about you showing up here and the other. And you know what I'm gonna do, Greenbean." Gally took small steps towards the Greenie. "I'm gonna find out what exactly that is."

"I've never seen you before in my life. I have no idea who you are, and I couldn't care less," the Greenie spat, seizing up to the bully. Gally only snickered in reply, a short burst of a laugh that mixed itself with a phlegm-filled snort.

"Do you think we should intervene?" I whispered to Chuck.

"No." Chuck shook his head. "Gally would tear us apart limb from limb. Let him have his fun."

I shrugged in response and carried on watching the Greenie make a complete fool out of himself. Chuck had edged himself inside of the doorway and at the back of the room. I followed suit, making sure that my sudden presence did not alert anyone.

"I've seen you, shank. Not too many in these parts can say they've been stung." He pointed up the stairs. "I have. I know what old Benny baby's going through. I've been there. And I saw you during the Changing."

He reached out and poked the Greenie in the chest. "And I bet your first meal from Frypan that Benny'll say he's seen ya, too."

The Greenie refused to break eye contact but said nothing back to him.

"Griever got ya wettin' yourself?" Gally said through a sneer. "A little scared now? Don't wanna get stung, do ya?"

That word he used, Chuck had mentioned it before when I had arrived, but never fully explained the meaning behind it. I too was yet to find out what it actually meant for someone to be 'stung', for I was also kept in the dark about the mechanics of this working society.

Greenie pointed up the stairs, towards where Ben was recovering from being injected with the Serum, his moans echoing throughout the Homestead.

Both parties had yet to acknowledge my presence in the room.

"If Newt went up there, then I wanna talk to him."

Gally stared at the Greenie for several seconds, nothing much coming out of his mouth. Then he shook his head. "You know what? You're right, Tommy – I shouldn't be so mean to Newbies. Go on upstairs and I'm sure Alby and Newt'll fill you in. Seriously, go on. I'm sorry." He lightly slapped Greenie's shoulder, then stepped back, gesturing up the stairs.

_Don't do it,_ I thought as I rubbed my hands together. All eyes turned in my direction, one mouth dropped open.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" I whispered to Chuck, making sure that this time my voice couldn't be heard.

"Yeah," he replied.

I stared back at the eyes that were fixed on me. I gave a weak smile and moved slowly towards the doorway that was still open. Not one dared to stop, not one dared to question why I was there and thankfully that one person hadn't had a heart attack yet.

_Tick Tock._

I snapped my head to the left, the sound grabbing my attention violently. I took another step back through the doorway, now standing outside of the Homestead. Life erupted into full motion once again within the room once my presence had diminished. It was like I had never appeared through that doorway.

_Tick Tock._

There it was again. Those two words singing through the trees with a child's voice. Laughing, taunting me. My fists balled, tightening in their grip as my nails dug into the palms of hands. I could feel trickles of blood slither down, falling like rain drops. I was scared, to put it frank. Scared that something was trying to mess with me. Scared that something was there to get me. Scared that no one was helping me.

Fear grabbed me from behind, snuck its way in through the back door that I left open. It took a hold of my every thought, my every movement. Sweat trickled down my face, dripping from my jawline and staining my shirt beneath it.

_Tick Tock._

I edged further away from the dark doorway that I had emerged from, my breathing rapidly increasing to short sharp breaths. There was no way I could calm myself down after this. My body sensed danger, and it reacted in all the wrong ways. I was freezing up from the top down. My brain shutting down, the icy trail slowly making its way down to my legs until I couldn't move any further.

"That's where you got to." A hand grabbed my shoulder and I unfroze as fast as I had frozen. I whipped around and bashed my fist against whatever it was that had grabbed me. A loud crack could be heard followed by a groan. Not even waiting to see what I had done, I tore away from my spot and sprinted to the nearest cover of trees that I could get to.

I weaved in and out of the tree line, dodging branches, up dug roots and fallen trunks. I bounded through the trees, the leaves whipping past me, the branches snagging on my clothes or catching my face. I couldn't stop running, I couldn't stop the fear. The only way to rid myself of the freezing was to outrun it entirely.

Blinded by the fear of the voice, I was unaware that of the trap that laid ahead of me. A tree branch that half buried itself in the ground, but an opening that was enough to be a danger. My foot caught the opening perfectly, gravity playing its part beautifully. I fell to the ground in a crashing thud, disturbing the peace that surrounded the area. It was not a delicate fall that a feather would demonstrate, it was a proper building-falling-over crash, with the poof of air. My head smack the tree trunk beside the nasty branch, stars erupting in my vision, blurring the outside world around me.

I couldn't quite keep my eyes open, the willingness to much for my brain to manage. At least the freeing had stopped, the fear knocked out of my head physically.

"Great," I mumbled. "Gotta smack my head each time to sort this problem out."

I laughed for the briefest of moments, the giddiness of not being there effecting what really went on up on top. Laughter soon turned into quiet sobs as I let the events of what just happened wash over me.

I had really hit someone, and I was sure going to face the consequences because of it. "I didn't mean it." I tried to shout, but all that came out was a mass of garbled words that made me sound like I was in pain. Which I was, I had a headache. But that doesn't matter now.

The woods were pretty here, away from all the business of the Glade, the people, the brightness. The world seemed more natural in this part. Brightly coloured leaves rustled through the wind, a few leaving their main source and floating, twirling their way to the forest floor. A few landing on me. Reds, greens, oranges, even yellows populated the trees, creating a vibrant spring image when all the world regenerates itself. The world is a better place when you only look up.

"Clarke?"

I wonder what the world looks like when it is peaceful. The way that everything moves at its own pace. No chaos. No nothing.

"Clarke?"

Why is the world dying? What did they do to the world?

"Clarke, what's happened?"

"Why has the world gone bad?" I whispered before the darkness took me.

"Tick tock," the voice giggled through the stuffy darkness. "Tick tock, goes the clock."

* * *

_"Who's there?" I called into the darkness, my voice echoing in what must have been a room. I didn't bother with trying to see in front of me, for I knew that nothing could be seen an inch from my eyes. Wherever I was, I was keeping everything glued to my sides. This darkness was a strange type of darkness. It was like it radiated with fear, the thickness of it increasing with mine._

_Did this darkness feed on fear?_

_"Don't be stupid." I whispered to myself, reassuring that I was perfectly fine._

_My feet planted themselves to, what I thought, was the floor, refusing to move an inch. Wherever I was, it didn't seem right. The darkness was suffocating, drawing all the life out of me. Tearing away at the each memory that I had, then sucking out of my body in pieces at first._

_"Tick tock," the voice tittered once more, its voice louder by the tock. Scuttling, scratching of nails skittled past me, light pressures trailing up my leg. I yelped at the reaction, backing away from whatever it was that had touched me. Jumping backwards meant that the heel of my foot knocked something light._

_The fear of this place was undeniable, sucking anything and everything out of me. Although, this place seemed unreal. For starters, I was not freaking out as much as I would have done. The air, even though sucking the life out of me, didn't really seem to be doing anything. Honestly, this place all felt like a dream. A sucky dream if you ask me._

_I plucked up some courage, sucked in a huge gulp of the deathly dark air and bent down to feel for what had been kicked behind me._

_"Please nothing slimy," I mumbled to myself. "Please."_

_I was in luck. My fingers brushed against a small smooth rectangle object, with sharp corners. Must have been a box of some sort. The sides were rough, brittle, small particles brushing away with my fingertips._

_A matchbox._

_A sigh of relief whistled through my lips as I blindly griped the box in my now shaking hands. I felt my way to push the inside of the box, the scraping noise echoing around. The sound was ominous, harsh, breaking the little strings that kept me together. I was frightened beyond belief and the opening of the box made it all worse._

_Weird, huh?_

_Blindly fumbling for one of the matchsticks, I managed to pull one out gently enough so that I wouldn't drop it to the floor and start the process all over again. Instinct initiated and without having any eyes to coordinate what I was to do, I struck until flames erupted from the end, bursting the small bubble of murkiness into light._

_The blackness fed on the light, absorbing the very essence of its surroundings, removing the warmth, the shine and the hope with it. This was no ordinary darkness, for this darkness absorbed. It hid the creatures in a veil of blackness. The ones with wings of stone and faces of misperception. They moved when others cast aside. For they should be feared. The darkness was their cloak, their weapon._

_And I._

_"Tick tock, goes the clock."_

_I was the prey._

_"And all those years they fly"_

_Hunted._

_"Tick tock, goes the clock."_

_Trapped._

_"Your love shall surely die"_

_Dead._


	8. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

* * *

_It's a lot easier, she realised, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would stille take time. ~ The Book Thief_

* * *

My eyes fluttered open to look up at the brown muddy ceiling of them room I laid in. Gone were the leaves that made the world a better place. Gone, also, the darkness that I had been hunted in. Adjusting to the harsh light, I tilted my head to the side, recognising the peeling walls and musky smell of the room. I was back in my own room, my body laid out on my own bed.

I did the best I could to prop myself up on my elbows, to get a better look at the damage done with my wild run through the woods. Glancing down my body, everything seemed to be alright, physically. Inside, though, my muscles ached tremendously from falling over.

Given this invitation, the memory of what happened flooded back and I groaned from embarrassment. I was not going to be let off lightly for doing something like that. I hadn't meant it, not in the slightest. It was just the spur of the moment that had frightened me.

"Have more attention next time," I scolded myself.

I shifted my elbows on the bed, dragging my body halfway down until I could turn and dangle my legs over the side. My bare feet brushed the wooden flooring, swiping away the loose dirt particles. Finally, I gained some courage and stood on those two feet. The floorboard creaked beneath, high, long and shrill, giving away that I was up.

A grunt came from the end of my bed, a distorted sound that was not happy at being woken up. I crept onto my bed, making sure that the springs in the mattress didn't make a sound. I peered over the side of the board and spotted a flock of blond hair swept over a hunched figure. Another grunt vibrated out of the body, the hair on the top of his head shivering from the motion.

The boy arched his head upwards, his hair flying down with gravity, bobbing when it hit his shoulders. He removed his arms that had wrapped around his legs, and used them to brush away his hair that had fallen onto his face and rub his eyes.

"Clarke," he said, well tried to say through a yawn. He rotated his hand in the air for a second, waiting for the gigantic-of-a-size yawn to finish.

"You're finally up," was the next thing that came from the figure, now stretching his limbs that had cramped up from sleeping on the floor at the end of my bed. He turned to face me, a grin tugging at his face.

"What's got you all happy about?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Nothin', it's just Sleeping Beauty seems to get herself in trouble quite a bit round 'ere," he replied. "We need to keep you under lock and key, for everyone's safety."

Theory 1.

"Anyway, you're lucky Zart's forgiven you," he continued. "Not many in the Glade would have; some would have launched on that like a leech."

He stood up, clutching the end of the bed as he moved around. He pointed to his legs and wiggled his finger. From that, I knew his legs were stiff, which meant he had been there for at least a few hours.

"Do you know how long I was out this time?" I asked inquisitively.

"It was late afternoon, when you went runnin' around," he started. "I reckon it's about three in the mornin', so at least a good few hours."

I dropped my gaze that had followed him round the room, and went to watching my hands play with one another. This was a habit that had to stop, I was surely going to cause brain damage if I did this too much.

"I'm sorry," I finally said as I realised I had averted the subject to suit myself and not think of others.

"Pardon."

"I said I was sorry."

"For what?" he asked, confusion twinkling in his eyes.

"Being a nuisance, for hurting people," I said. "Disrupting your system."

"No," he snapped. "Do not think yourself like that. Your presence here has done some good, soften some Gladers. You've been here a week, give it time and everything will settle down."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Looking into his eyes, I saw the sincerity with that answer, there was no hidden message. I eyed in closer, would he be wrong? Would he lie? For now, I would have to trust his promise.

A yawn escaped him, vibrating its way down his body violently. He shook his head momentarily, stopping himself from falling asleep while he was still standing.

"Hey, Newt," I gently spoke. "Do you need to go back to sleep?"

"I'm fine," he assured me. "I'll be fine. Anyway, I've got somethin' for ya."

He turned on his heel and left the room, opening and closing the door as quietly as he could. A few minutes passed before he remerged from the doorway with something heavy slung over his back. He ambled over to the bed, which I hadn't moved from, and dropped a hefty bag next to me.

The bag was a brown, worn satchel, with the strap fraying in places from its age. A bronze buckle secured the lid of the bag, that too was no longer its once shiny self, but had worn away to reveal a silver undercoat. I pushed the button to allow the buckle unclasp and pulled the lid open to reveal what was hidden inside.

"Have you looked inside?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the treasures that lay within.

"Only briefly," Newt answered. "We wanted to know if it really belonged to you."

"And who is _we_ exactly?"

"Alby and I."

"Good," I mumbled. If this bag was mine, then I wanted everything inside of it to be kept under minimal eye contact.

Flickering my eyes back to the bag, I fumbled around trying to determine why this was mine. A discoloured white badged caught my eye, stitched to the back of the bag. I examined it closer to discover a poorly written name scrawled across it.

_Clarke O._

"That's how we knew it was yours," Newt pointed. "And also it was sat in the corner with a few drops of blood on it."

I flipped the lid of the bag closed and spotted the red splatters that dotted the outside. The splotches were noticeable upon a closer and more concentrated inspection. They were like a camouflage on the top of the bag.

"Makes sense." I finally said after I traced the blood spots with the tips of my fingers. "Anything of interest in there?"

"We're not that snoopy, Clarke." Newt joked, a laugh coming from him. "We only briefly looked inside to see if there was a name."

"You knew my name then?" I pressed, unclear as to why I went through a harsh interrogation at the beginning of the week.

"We weren't sure if it was your name, so we had to ask." Newt rolled his eyes. "We ain't bloody mind-readers."

"Really, and here I thought you were." I huffed as I went back to looking at the contents inside of the bag. I traced my fingers in, willing them to delve in to scavenge what was mine. A few moments passed with me looking into the bag for the most interesting item, when (for the briefest of moments) a white light flashed across my eyes.

I peeked up to see if Newt had noticed this strange occurrence; he hadn't for he was still brooding in the middle of the room.

"Jeez, do you need an invitation," I said. "Sit, help me look."

Newt followed my command and took a place on the opposite side. I shook my head once, then carried on looking inside. I pulled out a notebook with a spiral binder spinning its way down the side. The front page of the notebook curled in on itself, the edges either ripped of a greying white, contrasting with the royal blue. My fingers brushed the front page of the book, light indentations creating a swirled pattern across the page.

I glanced up to see if Newt had also taken an interest in my discovery, but to my horror, he was not there. Not anywhere. He had disappeared from the room entirely.

"Newt?" I softly whispered. "Where are you?"

"He's there." A gruff voice replied. I jumped up from the bed to come face to face with a man, our noses almost touching. He looked to be at least in his twenties, the mark of adulthood only just claiming him. Brown hair sprayed across his head, not quite settling in some places. His dark green eyes illuminated from a light source that was not to be found in this room. A red bow-tie prominently fixed on his shirt collar, to which the man fixed in a fidget-of-a-moment.

I took a step back from the man, uncomfortable with the limited space between us. He pulled a questionably face before he once again fixed his bow-tie and stood up, arching his back in a stretch.

"I forgot you're so small," he said. "My knees are going to suffer."

Speechless. No words would come out of my mouth. Wordless, silent Clarke.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my hands rising up in defence.

"Oh no," the man fretted. "We're not here to hurt you?"

"_We?_" I repeated. I turned my attention to the two other figures in the room that I had not noticed before. One was a pale faced female with fiery red hair that toppled down her shoulders. She wore a mustard yellow jumper, long enough that her navy mini-skirt just peeked underneath. Noting instantly, her fingers were intertwined with the male that stood beside her. He, unlike her, kept his colours bland, with a navy puffer body warmer and long blue jeans, which suited his musty brown hair, cropped shorted round the sides.

They gazed at each other longingly, the world theirs in that moment of time.

The man with the red bow-tie politely coughed, trying to grab their attention away from each other.

"Sorry, Ponds," he said. "But we've got catching up to do."

Their eyes drifted from one another to eventually settle on me. The woman broke her hand away from the man and swiftly walked right up to me, bending down to meet my eye line. I drifted back further, my leg catching the side of the bed.

"Bump on your head." She motioned to the bandage that was wrapped round my head. "What have you been up to?"

"I-I don't answer questions to people I don't know." I stuttered, wishing that my voice would keep itself together.

"You did with them." She pointed to the place where Newt had disappeared. "And you didn't know them."

I kept my mouth shut,

"Amy, dear, you're scaring her." The man with the navy puffer body warmer hissed.

Amy straightened her back, her lean figure towering over me. She glanced behind her before she returned to stare me down. "Do you know how much trouble we have gone through to get to you?"

I shook my head.

"Then you betta listen kid," she whispered in a harsh tone. "Listen with all your ears."

I shook my head again. Amy smiled, and gestured for the man with the bow-tie to come forward. He obediently complied and took over of leaning in front of me. He gradually came closer to me, invading the small amount of personal space I had between them. The man closed one eye, then reopened it and closed the other. He peered at me for a few seconds before he once again straightened his back.

The man strode past me and took a seat on the bed, in the exact spot where Newt had been. He gestured for me to join him, and so I did, "You have no idea who we are?"

I nodded.

"Good." A cough came from Amy. "Not good."

"Just get on with it." Amy said in an irritated tone.

"Fine," the man continued. "A lot of things have happened since you have disappeared. For starters, you're experiencing memory loss–"

"I know that," I snapped. "All I want to know what on earth is going on, and who you are?"

"That's simple," he replied with a grin on his face. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor."

I looked over to Amy to see if any sense would come out of her, she only shrugged in response indicating that this was just a normal occurrence.

"Your name can't be the Doctor," I said. "There must be more to it."

"Nope." He grinned, then glanced over his shoulder to look at the Ponds. "The Doctor it is and the Doctor it shall be."

"You make no sense," I groaned. I placed my head into my hands wishing that they would stop making my head hurt.

"There, there," the Doctor said as he patted my back. "It's the same for everyone."

"Doctor, just get on with it," I heard Amy hiss from the other side of the room. I got the impression that she clearly didn't like me every much for whatever reason. There was a strange history between us, and only one knew it.

"Well, to clear some questions up," he continued. "No, you weren't supposed to be there."

"I kinda got that," I mumbled, lifting my head from my hands. "Seeing as no one really wants me around."

"Same here," he replied.

I glanced sideways at him in confusion. "What do you mean _same here_?"

"Well," the Doctor started. "To put it straight, me, Amy and Rory (the awkward looking one) are all stuck in a WICKED facility somewhere in the world. We aren't too sure where, but we know for certain it isn't anywhere near you. At the moment, they are keeping us separated, but I'm sure something's going to happen in the next couple of days.

"Bad news is the TARDIS has gone missing (I won't explain what that is, it will take too long) and we also don't know where that is. Luckily, I have an inkling it might be in the same building, because they can't split us up. They need someone to open it for them."

A sharp blaring noise erupted from behind the wooden door that led to the rest of the Homestead. The Doctor's face whitened. He stroked his chin, then stood up eruptively, the mattress springing up behind him. He crossed the room towards the door and placed his ear to it, inspecting keenly.

"What is it?" Rory whispered.

"Not good," he replied in his cryptic way. "I think we've been found out."

The Doctor shuffled back from the door towards where Amy and Rory both stood. He grabbed both of their arms and dragged them towards the back of the room, their backs pressed against the wall.

"Amy's alright," the Doctor said, twisting his head in my direction. "But you need to listen carefully. Get out of the Maze, track down the TARDIS and find us. Do you hear me?"

I nodded.

"Repeat it then," Amy snapped.

"Escape Maze, find TARDIS then find you." I instantly relayed, fearful of what she could do if I annoyed her anymore.

The sharp noise increased, piercing my ear drums enough my ears started to water. I clamped my hands around my ears, trying as best as I could to drown out the noise. The others winced in pain but did not cover their ears as their hands were tightly locked together, pressed hard against the wall.

A metal door materialised, crafting its framework into the wooden walls. A small hatch briefly slide open, revealing a blinding white light and a pair of dark eyes. The metal door swung wide open, the light exploding into the room, a gust of wind threateningly whipping through. It didn't seem to affect me, the wind, but for the others, they struggled to hold stay planted on the wall.

A stronger gust of wind flew into the room, their clothes flapping violently around them. The strain to stay put seemed too much for them, and with the next gust Rory was swept away into the bright light.

A cry erupted from Amy as she grasped at the air where she once held his hand. She cried out in sorrow as the person she loved disappeared from view.

"Doctor!" she shouted over the wind. "Just tell her already."

The Doctor nodded and looked me in the eye. "Something's hunting us down, not sure what, but it is. We're sitting ducks if we stay here any longer. Get out and find us."

"How do I find you?" I screeched back over the noise.

"You'll know. And one last thing, the hay fever was only a punishment." And with that, both Amy and the Doctor flew from the side of the room. Tumbling and crashing towards the light that blasted through the room, terror gleaming in their eyes.

The bright lights scorched my vision as it lit the room, my hand in front of my face didn't help either. I closed my eyes for several seconds trying to stop myself from becoming blind. A loud crack vibrated through the room, shattering every nerve endings in my body. Then silence.

I allowed my eyes to open slowly, the bright light still haunting my vision. Still, I was, in the same room, but it felt different, darker.

"Hey, Clarke," a familiar voice said next to me. "What you doin'? You've look like you've seen a ghost."

My hands snapped from my face to reveal that everything had reverted back to normal. Newt had once again returned to sitting on my bed, a notebook open on his lap, a worried expression beginning to crease his face.

"You didn't see that?" I asked, getting up to check for any evidence of the encounter.

"See what?" He worriedly answered.

I turned back to where he sat, eyeing him carefully. If Newt had witnessed the last five minutes, he would have been talking about it. Which means, it was all in my head!

"Nothing," I dismissed and returned back to my position next to the bag. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not really," he said as he flicked through the notebook. "This one's blank, how 'bout yours?"

"Same."

I brushed through the notebook in my hands, letting the pages slip beneath my fingertips. The act itself felt pointless, the way that nothing made sense anymore. _Punished_. Punished for what?

The room felt smaller once I had returned back to normality, the walls pushing themselves in further then they already had. The world closed in on me, the fear of being crushed welling inside.

I couldn't stay in this room any longer, I had to escape, escape some place where there was no walls to push themselves.

I snatched the empty notebook from Newt's hand, and a long with mine, stuffed it into my bag. I slung the strap over my shoulder and darted for the door. I tiptoed as fast as I could down the stairs, jumping the last set and landing with a thud on the creaky wooden floor. I made it outside of the Homestead, taking my footing carefully as I manoeuvred through the minefield of Gladers that were asleep on the grass floor.

Now wasn't the time to wake any up.

Once I was free of the grass, I made straight for the tree line, away from the small amount of light that illuminated the Glade and ran into darkness.

In the day, I found it hard to navigate these trees, at night, it was a different story. Hidden tree roots and small rocks were a tripping hazard everywhere I went. Running was not an option for me, so I slowed down to a brisk walk, my feet kicking out in front and my hands touching their way through the trees.

After a few minutes of walking around in the trees, I spotted a large one that would guarantee that I could take my weight. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I now was able to make out vivid shapes of the surrounding area.

I shuffled oved to the base of the tree, shifting the weight of the bag around until it rest on my shoulder instead of digging into it. I reached up to the lowest branches and grasped them with my hands. I pulled my weight up from the floor, allowing my legs to walk up the side of the tree. Eventually, I was able to sit on the lowest branches, my feet dangling in the air.

I climbed the rest of the way up, not stopping to think until I was high enough that I could barely see the forest floor. I wanted to be at peace with myself, to feel like I was free in a place where I was confined. At least some reassurance that nothing was closing in.

Settling myself into a branch that would support my weight, I removed the bag from my shoulder and placed it on my lap. With limited lightening, it would have made sense to leave looking through my bag until I could see more. However, my curiosity to discover the items that belonged to me pulled my strings and I found myself open the bag, delving into its treasures.

First, I searched for a torch of some sort, anything that would produce I light source that would aid me in my discoveries. Blindly, my fingers sifted through the items within, pushing, what seemed, pads and pads of notebooks and papers aside. This bag was seriously deep.

Eventually, I came across a few items that didn't feel like paper. The cool sensations of this device caught the attention of my nerve endings, electrifying them. I pulled the strange object out of my bag and inspected it. It was a device of some sort, with a bronze looking metal and a design that held an illuminating light that was squeezed into a small space. Claws spiked at the top, a small green orb in the centre of it. Spinning the device around in my hand, I found that the weight of it was on the heavy side, as if it was built for someone taller than I was, the Doctor possibly.

I let my fingers search the grooves of the device, trying to find how it actually worked and how to turn it on. They found what I was looking for before I even knew it myself. Somehow, my blank mind knew where to look for before even I did, the conscious part.

A metallic clicking diverted my attention away from the device in my hand, the noise closer to my left ear. I inched my head to the side to discover a creature with red eyes scuttling towards my shoulder. I stifled a scream and allowed for instinct to take over. My hand pointed the device towards the beetle blade, and pressed a button that I had learnt earlier. A green light erupted from the end of the device intertwining with a peculiar buzzing noise. The beetle blade reacted instantly to the light, twitching, fizzing and whirring at an alarming rate. The red dots flickered once, before it died, the body relaxing.

I caught the creature just as it started its descent to the ground, slime dripping through my fingers.

"Oh god," I said as I pulled the creature to rest on top of the bag.

Wiping the slime on the tree trunk, I inspected the creature that had hurtled itself before me. The beetle blade was at least ten inches in length, small puncture holes dotted around its back where metal spikes were presumably held. Chuck did say it would attack if we bothered it. The long spindly legs of the creature draped over the side of the bag; delicate looking, but I wouldn't undermine them at any moment.

Looking closer at the beetle blade, I noted six words etched into the back all very faint – _WICKED_.

I dismissed the words, and stuffed the creature into my back for further inspection at a later date. Maybe the others would be grateful for me catching one, it may even help them in some way.

As I tried to stuff the body of the beetle blade into my bag, I heard a voice echo through the trees at a whisper. I paused for a second, just to see if it was a figment of my imagination, but I heard it again, only closer this time.

Time only was sparse here, someone was always trying to find out where I was. I needed the time alone, I needed to be with myself, even if that means sitting in a tree for days on end.

Twigs snapped beneath the tree I was sat in, and I craned my neck to see who it was that had dared try and find me. From my leafy throne, I couldn't see much below, but the heavy thud every other step gave away who was hunting me down. Why was he so intent to be by my side?

"Clarke," he breathed as loud as he could. "Where are you?"

I stayed as still as I could, controlling my breathing so that the leaves around me didn't rustle too much. Closing my eyes made the situation better as I was able to relax myself into this new form.

A scuttling noise erupted from my bag, it vibrating on my lap. My eyes snapped open, and I witnessed the bag moving on its own, legs spilling out of the sides. Heeding Chuck's words of warning, I smacked my hand on the top of the bag so that it couldn't escape and attack me. I reacted to grab the device when I realised I had placed it within the bag along with the beetle blade.

I cursed at my stupidity, and went about forming a plan that would end up waking in a bed again. With lightning speed motion, I stuffed my hand into the bag, and rummaged as quickly around as I could trying to find the cool metal of the device. As it was near the top, I was able to grasp it and pull it out just as fast as my hand had entered.

My fingers curled around the cylinder shape, armed for attack. I inhaled a breath of air and in an instant had flicked the top open and pointed the device straight at its head.

The creature gave a sharp hiss, trying with all its might to launch at my face. My free hand flew up to protect my face, only letting slits through. Eventually, the red dots, it used as eyes, drifted out, closing down whatever system it was running on. Unsure if it was only playing dead, I gripped both ends of the creature and pulled with all my might, sparks flying as it no longer flowed with electricity.

"What the bloody hell are you up to?" a voice shrieked beside me. I jumped out of my skin, letting everything drop from me, the bag, the beetle blade, the device. I would have fallen with it, if Newt hadn't grabbed my waist and yanked my body back onto the branch. The world paused momentarily as I imagined myself falling from the tree. None of the flashes before my eyes, I wasn't high enough to die, more _what would happen if I did fall?_ How much would WICKED celebrate if I had severely broken something. Then, a change of thought. I wondered about the outside world, and what it was like. Peaceful? Chaos? Burnt? But, all that occurred in a mere few measly little seconds.

As the thoughts drained out of me, I arched my head to stare into the face of the person that made me drop everything.

"What the bloody hell _are_ you up to?" I demanded back crossing my arms in anger.

"Savin' your life," he rebuked, with a curl of lips smudging his face. "But, if you don't want it saved, I can just…"

He gently released his arm around me and I could feel gravity pull me towards the ground. I screeched in surprise and twisted my body so that I was able to loop my arms around his neck. His body vibrated softly beneath me as he stifled his laughs.

Placing my face right in front of his, I made sure that I had a stern face on. "You stop laughing now, and I might consider not hurting you."

"Ya won't." I raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright. See, I'm not laughing anymore."

Newt helped me over the branch, and started to descend the tree that we were both in. He got so far as taking two steps before he stopped suddenly on a branch, his head bent downwards.

"Newt," I said in a clear voice. "You gonna move?"

No reaction.

"Newt," I asked again. "Everythin' alright?"

Silence. The boy seemed to be stuck to the branch, staring down for a long period of time. I peered over his shoulder to see if a response would ignite out of him. He didn't even bat an eyelash. Whatever was happening, he clearly wasn't grounded to the earth, and needed to be fast. A sense of panic started to stir up inside me. I had no experience of people doing this, I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know what was happening. I tried once again to grab his attention, pulling him away from staring down at the ground. Whispering his name, touching his shoulder lightly at first, then prodding it hard.

Suddenly, a stupid decision formed in my head. Either, I would stay up here until someone found us, or acted in the most outrageous escape plan that could end up badly done the right way or wrong way.

I leant back on the tree branch, placing my legs behind his then pushed as hard as I could, colliding hard with his body. The reaction was instinct, and a yelp escaped his lips before we both crashed and tumbled down the side of the trees, breaking branches and disturbing leaves as we went.

With a heavy thud, Newt landed on the forest floor with me smashing in top of him, both covered in leaves and branches from our trip. I heard him moan underneath me, shifting his weight to bear the brunt of the force that hit him.

"Will you get off," his muffled voice spoke, a hint of anger laced within his words.

"Sorry," I spluttered as I lifted my now aching body of his. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know what else to do."

He propped himself up onto his elbows, letting out grunts with every small movement. He curved his head so that he was looking into mine. He did not looked pleased.

"Next time," he started. "Don't do the stupid thing."

"I know, I know," I repeatedly said as I stood up to brush down the leaves and twigs that attached themselves to me. A heavy reeling sensation overcame me, my head dancing away from my body. I stumbled as I watched the world move around me. Soon as it came on it passed, a feeling of weightiness returning.

"Alright?" Newt asked from the floor.

"Yeah," I replied, shaking my head and pulling out the last visible bits of nature from me. "Need a hand?"

"You shouldn't be askin', I should expect it." Newt said. I watched as he slowly brought his knees underneath him, until he was placed in a kneeling position. He turned his head again to face me and I reacted immediately, my hand flying to support him as he stood up. Electric twinges flew through my body as we touched, but I dismissed them, banishing them to the back of my mind.

Once he was up, I released my hand from his shoulder and took a step back to give him space. As he went to brush his pile of nature of him, I accordingly stuffed my belongings back into the bag. I went to go retrieve my decapitated beetle blade, but upon searching around, I noticed that it had disappeared. Both parts of it. Not a single trace was left. It was like it hadn't been there at all.

"What you lookin' for?" Newt asked.

"Just another book," I quickly lied, bending down to pretend picking up one. "Here it is." I mimicked stuffing it in the bag before I returned to where Newt was standing. "May I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"Why didn't you go down the tree?"

Newt's face turned stone cold, all emotion flooding out of the boy's bright face. He shook his head once, ran a hand through his golden hair, then brushed his shoulder.

"Don't ask questions if you don't want to face the consequences," was all he said.

"Sorry, just curious." I mumbled, afraid that I had upset him.

"Clarke, you don't have to be sorry all the time. Sometimes being curious does have its advantages, others not so much. But, don't stop being curious, Clarke. Life's no fun without a little surprise." He bent to my eye line and pulled a twig out of my hair that I had missed. He flicked it away and returned his hand back to my face, brushing the knotted hair behind my ear.

I blushed bright red, turning my face away hoping that he didn't see the response.

"You know," I said, hoping to steer away from the moment. "I did say I would hurt you if you didn't get out of the tree."

"I think not," he argued. "I believe it was if I didn't stop laughin'."

"No no," I laughed. "I'm sure it was getting out."

"Fine," he said. "You can believe what you want. Anyway, I think the time is right."

Newt looked at his digital watch that was wrapped round his wrist.

"Now, I do believe that you and the new Greenie have yet to see the terrible monsters out in the Maze. It's time to go meet the Grievers."


	9. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

_Through crimson stars and silent stars and tumbling nebulas like oceans set on fire, through empires of glass and civilizations of pure thought and a whole terrible wonderful universe of impossibilities. You see these eyes? They're old eyes. And one thing I can tell you, Alex - monsters are real. ~ The Doctor_

* * *

I swiftly grabbed my bag from the floor, heaving the thing onto my poor shoulder. I noticed the device lying on the floor not that far away. A comet, that is what it looked like, with a small tail leading up to it. Strange, it looked like it had been dragged away…

"Clarke, you coming?" Newt called from further in the tree line.

"Yeah," I replied. No time to think, I grabbed the device from the ground and stuffed it into my trouser pocket. Who knows when I needed next?

A few chunks of my hair caught itself on the bag as it slipped from my shoulder. I groaned in frustration as I replaced the bag and tried to untangle from wherever it latched itself on. And to make matters worse, the Creators had conveniently not provided a hairbrush anywhere (that I know of) in the Glade. One option sparked in my mind, steal a fork from Frypan's kitchen. I'm sure he won't mind.

Catching up to Newt, leaning on a tree, we walked in silence towards the dimly lit Glade. Every now and again, he would point out a tree root or a stone that my clumsy feet tried to avoid. Once entering the Glade, I noticed the sky had lightened from its dark colour. I could clearly tell that it was early morning, the sky still dark with a splash of green from where the sun started to rise, or if there was one. Distracted, a hand guided me away from where I was about to step, where I tripped over my feet and grabbed his arm to stop myself from suddenly falling over.

I giggled, then straightened myself. If Newt hadn't been there, then I would have stepped on the poor hunched figure on the floor, and probably created a huge mess of things. I whispered a quieted thank you before we both carried on with our mission.

We carefully stepped over sleeping figures, cocooned within their warm sleeping bags. A few snored as we passed. We made to the opposite side of the Glade, where two figures laid against a tree. From the smaller of the two, I noticed a cluster of curls sprouting from the top. That was Chuck, so the person next to him was the new Greenbean.

Newt motioned for me to stay where I was as he went over and shook the shoulders of the Greenie. The Greenie's eyes snapped open, trying to focus on the person that woke him up. His mouth parted to speak when Newt quickly slapped a hand over it, making sure it stayed shut. The Greenie's eyes widened with him struggling to free himself.

"Shh, Greenie. Don't wanna be wakin' Chuckie, now, do we?"

Greenie nodded his head in agreement, his eyes relaxing into trying to say 'yes'. Newt finally removed his hand from the Greenie's mouth, and then leaned back on his heels.

"Come on Greenie," Newt whispered as he stood. He reached down and helped Greenie to his feet. "Gonna show you somethin' before wake up."

"Okay," he simply said, ready to follow. Greenie quickly leaned over and slipped his worn boots on. "Where are we going?"

"Just follow me. And stay close."

Newt indicated for me to approach, and we both snuck our way through the tightly strewn pack of sleeping bodies. I snuck a glance behind me, seeing, with each time, Greenie tripping over. An earning sharp cry of pain came from behind us. I turned to see a sleeping body punch Greenie in the calf. He must have stepped on someone.

"Sorry," the boy whispered, ignoring my stifled giggles and a dirty look from Newt.

Once we left the lawn area of sleeping Glades and stepped onto the hard grey stone of the courtyard floor, Newt broke out into a deep run heading straight for the western wall. I followed quickly behind, trying to keep up with his pace. My bag jingled beside me, dragging my shoulder down with every step.

Jeez, what on earth was stuffed in there?

I stopped for a second, readjusting the weight of the bag on my shoulder. I, again, glanced behind me to see Greenie hesitated for a second, pondering what on earth was going on, but quickly snapped out of it and ran after us.

The light dim in the Glade, but dark shadows loomed as we approached the wall. I stopped beside Newt, the Greenie not that far behind us. We had stopped right next to the massive walls that towered over us like a skyscraper. This was the closest I had gotten to these damn things since the first time I turned up here, running for my escape. I shifted on my feet, feeling uneasy standing there waiting for something to happen.

"What are those?" Greenie whispered loudly, his voice sounding a tad shaky. I followed his eye line, spotting a pair of twinkling red lights, which held an undercurrent of a warning toward us. _No more of them beetle blades_, I thought while my hand hovered over my trouser pocket where my device sat, my fingers ready to snap it out in case any of those things decided launched at my face, again.

Newt stood a couple of feet in front of the thick curtain of ivy on the wall. "When you bloody need to know, you'll know Greenie."

"Do you know?" he turned to ask me.

"_When you bloody need to know, you'll know Greenie._" I mimicked Newt, crossing my arms over to add emphasis.

He huffed at my response. "Well, it's kind of stupid to send me to a place where nothing makes sense and not answer my questions." The Greenie paused, unsure what to say next. "Shank," he added.

Newt broke out in a laugh, ringing through a small section of the Glade. This was quickly cut off when the bag fell from my shoulder. I bent down to pick it up, sighing that I had to throw it back upon my shoulder.

"Oh, leave that where it is," Newt said. He motioned for us to step forward towards the wall. "I like you. Greenie. Now shut it and let me show somethin'."

He stepped forward and dug his hands into the thick ivy, spreading several vines away from the wall to reveal a dust-covered window, spanning two feet wide. No light perplexed the surface at the moment, only painting a dark black across the screen.

"What're you looking for?" Greenie asked.

"Hold your undies, boy. One'll be comin' along soon enough."

Newt crooked his head to me and rolled his eyes. I smirked at the response, blissfully unaware that the Greenie was studying the motion.

A minute passed, then two more. Several more. Greenie fidgeted on his feet, knocking them together across the dirt. He wasn't a patient type of person.

A shuffling sound came beside me and I glanced up to see the Greenie standing by my shoulder, words forming on his mouth.

"I'm Thomas," he whispered in my ear. I fully turned to face the Greenie, to study him (like Chuck did). Greenie was tall, at least another head on me. His messy dark brown hair contemplated his dark brown eyes, with the even darker bags under them. The old life forgotten must had been tough if he was carrying the burden into the Maze. He wore a light blue that seemed to fit snugly round his body.

I could have gone on, but a waiting light appeared in his eyes, expecting a reply.

Sticking out my hand, I answered. "Name's Clarke."

"Clarke?"

"Yeah, problem?"

"No, it's just …" He paused for a minute, his face scrunching up in a ball as if he was trying to remember something. "Nothing."

"_Nothing_?" I pushed, raising my eyebrow. What is wrong with this kid? Did he remember something important? Greenie involuntarily took a step back, showing he wasn't sure what to do.

"I can't … remember," Greenie stuttered.

"Of course," I half-laughed, shaking my head. "You can't remember."

I eyed him for a second before I continued to stare through the black window. Greenie once again shuffled to my side, not talking for a full two minutes.

"Why did you go … erm … punch someone yesterday?"

If looks could kill, then mine did. Greenie took that step back again, a worried expression creasing his face. One more condescending thing that sprouted from his mouth, he would no longer have one.

"Remember Clarke, rule two." Newt either read my mind, or he had eyes in the back of his head. Not once had he even glanced in our direction, his eyes focused on the dark window.

Rule number two, _don't harm another Glader_ – or something along them lines.

"I wasn't gonna hurt him, only shake him up a bit," I muttered, relieved that Newt interrupted, what could have been, a messy situation.

Not wanting to discuss the problems with me anymore, I left Greenie to join Newt in his staring game with darkness. I studied his intent face, his eyes trying to search for something or just waiting. My eyes drifted from his face to the window, where the darkness sucked in the light. I unwillingly shivered staring into the darkness, the nightmare still raw. A nightmare, that all it was, a figment of my creative imagination.

An eerie light flashed through the window, casting a wavering spectrum of colour on my body and face. A smile cracked my lips as a fuzzy memory leaked in; me running towards a bright blue sea, hand intertwined with a young girl. Her face crinkled in delight, the wind whipping at our faces, blowing through her dark long hair. She stumbled as we ran faster, but she squealed for as to _go as fast as the wind will take us!_ And so we did.

Once our bare feet splashed into the cold water, we both shrieked and giggled in delight. Bounding around, running away from the waves. We, both, were having the time of our lives. We, both, had the time of our lives. For as soon as the memory appeared, it drifted away with the whipping wind. Till, eventually, all that was left were the bright sparkling blue eyes that shone in delight.

My eyes snapped up once the memory faded, stopping the tears from falling. No one here would see me cry. No one.

"Out there's the Maze," Newt whispered, placing his hand to on the glass. I saw that his eyes were wide as if he was in some sort of trance. "Everything we do – our lives – revolves round the Maze. Every lovin' second of every lovin' day we spend in honour of the Maze, tryin' to solve somethin' that's not shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we want to show ya why it's not be messed with. Show ya why them buggin' walls close shut every night. Show why you two should never, ever find your butts out there."

Newt stepped back, still holding the ivy vines within his hands. He gestured for Greenie, behind us, to take his place next to me and look through the window for himself.

Greenie did, he crossed over and leaned forward until his nose touched the surface of the glass. His eyes widened, a gasp escaping his mouth. Greenie had found something, and I wanted to see it as well. My eyes snapped back to look through the dark window. It took a second for them to focus on the moving object on the other side of the glass, to look past the grime and dust and see what Newt wanted me to see, and what Greenie had found. A breath caught in my throat like an icy wind had blown down there and frozen the air solid.

A large, bulbous creature the size of a cow, but with no distinct shape, twisted and seethed along the ground in the corridor outside. It climbed the opposite wall, then leaped at the thick-glassed window with a loud thud. Greenie shrieked beside me, he gripped my hand in fright. He jerked away from the window, almost tearing my arm out of its socket. Terror swamped his eyes as the thing bounced backwards, leaving the glass undamaged.

Greenie sucked in two large breaths and leaned in once again, never letting go of my hand. He was scared, but brave. Greenie was willing to look once more at the creature, whereas I was only scared for my hand not dropping off.

I surprised myself. Not once was I taken back by the creature. Maybe, because there was a strong window that protected the inside.

As long as I didn't end up out there, then everything would be okay. But, something dawned on me. No matter how much I stared at the hideous creature behind the glass, something at the back of my mind whispered what I had witnessed before was nothing compared to this. And that person to not be afraid of it, meant either she had huge amounts of courage or was just some risk taker. Either way, I knew for certain I wasn't that person anymore.

Odd lights flashed from an unknown source, revealing blurs of silver spikes and glistening flesh. Wicked instruments-tipped appendages protruded from its body like arms: a saw blade, a set of shears, long rods whose purpose could only be guessed.

The creature was horrific mix of animal and machine and seemed to realise it was being observed, seemed to know what lied inside the walls of the Glade, seemed to want to get inside and feast on human flesh.

When the Greenie braved up a bit, he finally let go of my crushed hand and took a step back. He edged in a bit closer to the glass.

I took another step back from the window, no longer wanting to look at the creature looming outside. I joined Newt to where he was stood, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. Soon as I saw it, it disappeared. However, his arms were crossed over his chest, no smile. It felt strange not to see him smile, instead with a scowl. All the time I had been round him, he was either laughing at me or well, mainly, at me.

"What's the matter?" I whispered to him.

"Nothin'," he whispered back, through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, sure." I rolled my eyes. "You look like a cat that has been dragged through a bush, backwards." I laughed, trying to cheer him up. It didn't work, something was bothering him.

"What is that thing?" Greenie asked, oblivious to our small conversation.

"Grievers, we call 'em." Newt answered. "Nasty buggers, eh? Just be glad the Grievers only come out at night. Be thankful for those walls."

Greenie seemed to be in a trance with the thing, watching it's every move. Newt left my side and walked to stand next to him by the window. He looked through it absently. "Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze. Now you know that this isn't a joke. You've been sent to the Glade, Greenie, and we'll be expectin' ya to survive and help us do what we've been sent here to do."

"And what is that?"

I drifted away from where I was standing and ended up picking up my bag, heaving it onto my other shoulder. The first traces of the invisible sun had crept on us while we were here.

"Find our way out," Newt said behind me. "Solve the buggin' Maze and find our way home."

* * *

A couple of hours later, the doors reopened; the ground shaking with each of its rumbling and grumbling until they were finished. Newt left us for the morning outside the Homestead; my guess was the he had to help the Med-jacks with Ben. He seemed to be in a foul mood when he sullenly walked away, hands shoved into his trouser pocket and grumbling as he crashed through the Homestead door. I wanted to follow him and question what was up, but I thought it best to leave him cool down. Better that then have my head bitten off.

I stayed with Greenie (unfortunately) who had taken a seat on a worn, tilted picnic table. He wasn't much of a talker once we both sat down, only grumbling muted words whenever I tried to start a conversation with him. The Grievers might have disturbed him quite a bit.

As the early morning daylight lit up the Glade, I now had the advantage of looking through my bag that was still slung over my shoulder. I pulled it up and over my head, and sent it with a crash on to the table. I flipped the top of the bag open and started to pull out the books again. I counted at least fifteen A4 notebooks stacked messily into the bag. And, with a quick flick, I noticed that there was no order to them. No small number, no small letter. It didn't really make sense.

To reassert my nagging brain, I pulled one of the books out of its position and threw it open.

"What the," I said, as I skimmed through the notebook. I pulled another out. Same again. Another. The exact same. What I thought were all blank notebooks that had randomly come into my possession, were now all filled bursting with intricate patterns, swirls and circles. Over the next few minutes frantically searching through the books, I noticed speckles of blood on a few of the pages. Eventually, these speckles turned into dark red stains.

Blood. My blood. I think.

Putting the books aside, I searched for something else, something more specific.

My hand reached to the bottom, and brushed a dry, flaky substance that coated a section of my bag. More searching came across a small object made of metal. I dragged out the object and discovered that, in my hand, a small knife – something that would be used in an operating theatre. This knife didn't shine with the metal, its brightness was dulled down by blood that coated the thing. Whatever happened with this knife, I knew that I had used it and exactly what on.

I rubbed my written arm, covered under the long sleeve of the shirt I wore. I banished the thought to the back of my mind until a later date.

Tired and hungry, I rose from the worn table to grab breakfast from Frypan. I grabbed my plate, stored on the many shelves lining the outside of the building, and was handed a plate full of eggs, bacon and sausages that steamed in my face. My stomach grumbled in delight at the food. I missed lunch and dinner the previous day, and my stomach was not pleased with what I done. I bet it felt betrayed for all the food I had missed.

"Someone tryin' to start an earthquake over there," Frypan said as a cheesy grin snaked across his face. I rolled my eyes and walked back to where I had left my bag and the Greenie. Sitting down back down, I watched Greenie get up and return to the table. It was a waste for food, he only picked at it with a fork. Something damning was on his mind. He spoke to no one, not even when Chuck came bounding over with a smile. The poor kid had exhausted himself trying to start a conversation with Greenie, who'd refused to respond. It seemed like he wanted to be left alone.

Seeing the kid's sadden eyes, I spoke to him instead. Who needs an arrogant Greenie anyway.

"What you been up to this mornin', Chuck?"

"Nothing much. Got a bit worried when Thomas wasn't there when I woke, but figured Newt must 'ave shown him the Grievers."

"Cool."

Our conversation was cut short when Alby approached us and tapped Greenie on the shoulder. Jarring himself from his thoughts, Greenie looked up to see Alby standing over him, arms folded.

"Ain't you lookin' fresh," Alby said. "Get a nice view out the window this morning? Enjoy the little buggers."

"Much," I grumbled through mouth fulls of food. At this point, I had snuck food from the Greenie's plate while he wasn't looking. Chuck eyed me for the first few grabs, but eventually let it pass. He seemed a person that couldn't hold a secret for long, but was all up for pranks. A strange boy indeed.

"Enough to make me want to learn more about this place," Greenie said, carefully picking his words so that he wouldn't provoke the temper Alby had when he was mad.

Alby nodded. "Me and you, shank. The Tour begins now." He started to move but stopped holding up a finger. "Ain't no questions till the end, you get me? Ain't got time to jaw with you all day."

"But …" Greenie stopped when Alby's eyebrow shot up, he's going to push it isn't he? "But tell me everything – I wanna know everything." I let out a breath of air that I hadn't realised I was holding. This kid wanted to end up as Greenie-splattered meat across the floor, if he asked any more questions.

"I'll tell ya what I wanna tell ya, Geenie. Let's go."

"Can I come?" Chuck's voice squeaked from the table we were sat at.

Alby reached down and pinched the boy's ear.

"Ow!" Chuck shrieked.

"Ain't you got a job, slinthead?" Alby asked. "Lots if sloppin' to do?"

Chuck rolled his eyes, then looked at Greenie. "Have fun."

"What about me, what do I do today?" I piped up. Usually Alby told me at the beginning of the day what I was doing and who I was with, showing me where to go.

"Wait there 'til Newt comes down for ya. He'll tell you what ya doin'."

And with that, he turned on heels and stormed off with Greenie close behind him.


	10. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

_You always think that pulling away from people will fix your problems, but it never does. ~ Once Upon A Time_

* * *

I sat at the picnic table, for what seemed, a very long time. In reality, it was little over forty minutes and a bowl of left over beans. Most of the Gladers had finished their breakfast, cleared away their plates and got on with their daily jobs. I wished I wouldn't have to sit here and wait, it was more like sit here and stand out. The desire to look through the contents of the bag was no longer there; that had gone with the discovery of the surgical knife smothered in (what I reckon) my blood. The shock that important information had been swiped from me, possibly leading to the knowledge to solve the enigma behind me. It seemed a burden to delve through that bag and grave for an answer that I would never understand.

The other problem with waiting for him was that the lack of sleep decided to catch up, igniting a pounding headache and stinging eyes. I groaned, allowing my head to rest on the bag to shut out the light. It was only a few seconds later that I heard the door crash open and heavy steps pounding towards me. I groaned again, lifting my head from the bag. I arched my head to watch Newt limp from the Homestead, heading in the direction of where I sat. His soft features once again returned, a glint of happiness sparked in his eyes, a smirk snaked across his fine face. I assumed that whatever had wound him up this morning had flushed from his system, hopefully.

Newt took the seat opposite, where Chuck had formerly sat not long ago. He placed his worn hands on top of the woodwork, pointed towards the bag.

"So?" I said, a scowl twitching on my face. He had the nerve to come out here like nothing was wrong. "What am I to do today?"

"The bag." He pointed to my makeshift pillow. "Alby wants us to go through it. To see if there is anythin' of use in there."

"Erm … well …" I paused. Do I reopen this bag and allow him to see what belongs to me? To have this bag was my only connection to my old life. Private property it was to me, I didn't want anyone else intruding and claiming stuff theirs. To put it blunt, it's mine. It was there with me when I entered from the Box (I think); whatever was inside this bag could potentially show me something about my past, who I was.

A defensive hand placed itself on top, dragging it further into my chest as if it was another extension of my life.

Rising from the worn picnic table, I lifted that very heavy burden onto my shoulder and made straight for the Homestead door, without looking behind. Inside the building, I headed for my sleeping space without hesitation, slamming the door shut.

Shut. Shut. The door wouldn't shut. A foot had snuck its way through.

"Ow, Clarke! Stop slammin' the door on my foot!" a distressed Newt shrieked behind the door. "You can't keep runnin' away from your problems all the time. Open the door … Now!"

I contemplated for a second. He had a point, a very good point. The internal 'fight or flight' mechanism was stuck pointing at flight, firmly stuck. I needed to sort that out to help myself, not anyone else. I, for one, really needed to grow back into my old shadow. It was frustrating, in so many different ways. The bag, a life line to my old life, may be something I needed to give up. Unlike most people, I gained second chance at life and I was going to take it.

"Clarke … ow … oww … stop it!" Newt shouted through the door. "Stop slammin' the bloody door on my foot, ain't gonna move it until I get a shuckin' answer, slinthead."

Contemplating comes with hazards, the brief forgetfulness of continual slamming the door on Newt's foot while trying to deceiver what to do. I was torn between two frame of minds: agree to look through the bag with Newt and let him discover the secrets that I so valuably treasured, or say no and keep hurting a person that I was starting to like, until they turn away to never acknowledge me again and possibly have the bag snatched from me while I left it be.

In reality, it didn't seem a hard choice. It was easier just to let him in. But, something nagged me to rethink the decision, a gut feeling that I had, which expected me to trust it to the ends of the earth and back. Something was not right with my unexpected arrival into the Maze.

Decision made, I stopped torturing the poor foot trapped within the door and wall, and spoke my demands.

"Fine, I'll let you look through the bag, on one condition. I keep the stuff inside and we look through it here, privately." I said, words swiftly forming on my tongue as my head devised a plan for itself. The foot slowly disappeared from its position in between the door, ultimately leading to the weight of my body to close it. A bang came from the other side, my bones jumping out of their sockets.

"Deal. Now open this bloody door before I tear it down," a very angry Newt said through the wooden frame. I had really pushed the button this time. I slowly opened the door, each turn of the hinges causing the door to creak open as if we were in an old rickety house. Newt walked in, grabbing my shoulder, detaching me from the doorframe and closing it shut with one free swing of his leg.

We were so close now, our noses almost touching, eyes locked, his breath steady but rising. I narrowed my eyes at him, not wanted to be intimidated. From this close up, I could see the splash of freckles that littered his face, his dark brown eyes lighting up in the sunlight cascading through the window. Marks creased along every inch of his face, too many for a boy his age. A scowl planted itself on his face, covering the famous smirk that he always wore.

"On the bed," Newt roughly said as he pointed his finger towards where I slept. I shook my body free from his grip, raising an eyebrow towards him. "Your bag, put it on the bed."

Removing the heavy load off my shoulder, I flung it towards the bed, items jingled as it crashed on top; the bag jumping as it settled itself. Newt stepped back and sat down, the bed creaking as it took his weight. He motioned me to come forward, so I did and placed myself opposite; the bag in between us, again. His hands dragged the bag towards him, flipping the top open. Newt's face scrunched up into a tight ball as he tried to decide which item should be pulled out first.

After a minute or so, his hand dived in and pulled out one of the various notebooks that was stuffed within. Newt skimmed through the book, his eyes widening as he saw more of the pages – the patterns.

"What's all of this?" he asked, eyes glued to the page. "Circles, why are there circles? It was blank before. How did this happen?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Beats me. One minute they weren't there, the next, all the pages were filled with that circular pattern."

"Do you think it was–"

"Magic?"

Newt gave me a look and returned to studying the pages. He picked another book out of the bag, beginning to search through that one. Knowing what he was going to find, I fell back and rested on my pillow, closing my eyes for a brief spell.

"Look," Newt said, snapping me out of a dozing state. "Some of these circles are the same."

I lifted my head up to see what he was pointing to. He placed one on my lap and shoved the other in my face. "It mustn't be a coincidence that there are repeatin', it must be a code of some sort, like the Maze."

"Wait, hold up." I rose from the bed. "You sayin' that the Maze is some sort of code?"

Newt opened his to answer, but was cut off by a loud booming, ringing alarm that came from outside. The book, perched on my lap, clattered to the floor when I jumped from the sudden explosion of noise. I resisted the urge to cover my ears. Newt, beside me, didn't react in the same way. He wasn't acting scared (like me), just plain confused.

"What's going on?" I murmured with a worried voice. Confusion assembled inside me, a tiny bit of fear as well. Greenie only appeared yesterday, which was the reason I recognised the sound. But, why was another coming up at that very moment in time? It wasn't another blip that WICKED decided to shove in for a laugh, was it? That wasn't the important question, really. The more important question was, how many Gladers now going to turn on us (if it was another Greenie)?

"That's weird," was all that came out of Newt as he rose from the bed and walked out of the room. I jumped up after him, intent this time to be a part of the new fascination that worked everyone up yesterday. Following closely behind, we both trailed a few boys out of the Homestead, all just as confused as us. Once outside, I stopped on the decking of the building, allowing the boys to break away. Would it be right for me to be there? Being overwhelmed by boys is enough, and then come face-to-face with the only girl? That person would be one short of a near heart attack.

Soon enough, I spotted the leader of the Glade march over towards the middle. I forgot that he took Greenie on a tour, which was why he tried to keep up with Alby, probably asking questions about the Box. But it seemed that Alby would not reply, or even slow down his pace.

With the confusion of the alarm, Newt hadn't reacted to my sudden departure until he turned to say something. He blanked out for a moment before his eyes eventually found mine. His shoulders sagged from a sigh before he ran back to where I stood, grabbed my hand and dragged me with him towards the small chaotic crowd forming around the Box.

"Newt, what's going on?" Greenie yelled.

Newt glanced over to him, nodded and walked over, dragging me behind. Using his free arm, he swatted Greenie on the back. "Means a new one is comin' up the Box." He paused, as if expecting Greenie to be impressed by this. "Right now."

"So?" I replied for Greenie. Newt glanced at me, calmly. Wait, that word wasn't the best way to describe him. Being calm amongst a confused crowd definitely was not what he was, instead he showed more signs of disbelief – maybe even a tad of excitement.

"_So?_" Newt retorted, his jaw dropping an inch. "We have never had _two_ Newbies show up in the same month. Now we have a third. That's something not to say _so_ to."

And with that, he released my hand, and ran off to the Homestead.


	11. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

_A hero always helps strangers. ~ Once Upon A Time_

* * *

The alarm finally stopped blaring after a full two minutes. A larger crowd had gathered around the steel doors in the middle of the courtyard, waiting for whatever, or whoever, was coming up. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked over to see Chuck standing there by my side, squished in-between Greenie and I.

"How goes it, Greenbean and Clarke?" Chuck asked, pushing as both to make room for himself.

"Fine," Greenie replied. Chuck turned to me and I shrugged my shoulders. Greenie pointed to towards the doors of the Box. "Why is everyone freaking out? Isn't this how you all got here?"

Chuck shrugged. "Don't know, guess it's always been regular-like. One a month, every month, same day. Until last week when Clarke turned up, then you (who actually turned up on time). Maybe whoever's in charge realised that you two were nothing but a big mistake, sent someone else to replace you." He giggled as he elbowed Greenie in the ribs, a high-pitched snicker that made me love this kid even more.

Greenie shot Chuck a glare. "You're annoying. Seriously."

"Yeah, but we all buddies now, right?" Chuck fully laughed this time, a squeaky sort of contagious snort that started me off with the giggling fits.

"You're not giving him much choice, Chuck. What's your secret, latch on to them when they are at the most vulnerable?" I said in between laughing fits, Chuck snorted at my comment. Greenie didn't join in with the giggles, only gave a cheesy grin and a shake of the head. It was true, though, no matter how annoying Chuck was, he needed all the friends he could get to survive the Maze. So did I in actual fact.

Chuck's laughter eventually stagnated until he was able to calm himself. A few of the Gladers started to stare in our direction, some with dirty glares plastered across. Clearly, a few needed to lighten up a bit from time to time. We only ignored them.

Finally, Chuck folded his arms, looking very satisfied with himself. "Glad that's settled between us. Everyone needs a buddy in this place."

Greenie grabbed Chuck by the collar, joking around. "Okay, buddy, then call me by my name. Thomas. Or I'll throw you down the hole after the Box leaves," he said as he released Chuck from his grasp. "Wait a minute, have you guys ever–"

"Tried it," Chuck interrupted before Greenie could finish what he was saying.

"Tried what?" I asked.

"Going down in the Box after it makes a delivery," Chuck answered. "It won't do it until it's completely empty."

"I already knew that, but what about–"

"Tried it,"

"Now what did you try?" I asked again.

"Going through the hole after the Box goes down. Can't. The doors will open, but there's just emptiness. No ropes. You can't do anything."

The emptiness I knew all too well, a sense of hopelessness that overtook me while I waited inside that cage, alone and confused.

"Did you try–"

"Tried it."

Greenie groaned. "Okay, what?"

"We threw stuff down the hole. Never heard them land. Reckon it goes on for a long time."

"What about lighting–" I interjected, trying to form a solution that would confuse the mind-reader enough to stop being annoying.

"Tried it … wait … lighting what?"

"Stuff. Lighting stuff, then chucking it down. Watch to see how far it goes down."

Chuck hesitated then answered. "They've probably already tried it."

Even though he was a little annoying, Chuck was a person that I would always stick by. He, somehow, made the situation a whole less worse than it actually was. Greenie took a deep breath and returned to looking towards the crowd. "So, how long until the delivery gets here?"

"Usually takes about half an hour after the alarm goes off."

Greenie went silent for a second. _Here comes round two_, I mentally prepared myself. "You're sure about the hole? Have you ever…" He paused, waiting for the interruption to come, but none came. "Have you ever tried making a rope?"

"Yeah, they did. With ivy. Longest one they could make. Let's just say that little experiment didn't go so well."

"Why didn't it?" I asked, curiosity biting at my lips.

"It was before me when it happened, but I heard the kid volunteered to go down about ten feet when something swooshed through the air and cut him in half clean," Chuck motioned with his hands the swooshing motion.

"I don't believe you. Bet you're making that up to try and scare Greenie over here," I said, elbowing him in the shoulder.

"Oh, yeah? I've seen the sucker's bones. Cut in half like a knife through whipped cream. He's kept in a box to remind future Greenies not to be as stupid."

We both, Greeine and I, waited for Chuck to break into laughter, a smile beaming across his face as we both fell for his joke – who had heard of someone being cut in half? But the anticipated laugh never came. "You're kidding, right?"

Chuck stared between us, registering the expressions that appeared on our face – Greenie's mouth wipe open. "I don't lie, Clarke. Come on, let's go over and see who the new Greenbean is."

We walked closer to the Box, shifting through the crowd to gain a better look, the height against us for Chuck and me. As we walked through the crowd, I noticed a figure in the crowd staring dead at us – Gally.

"Shuck it," Chuck said as he discreetly pointed to Gally. "He does not like you Thomas."

"Why?" I asked. "What has Greenie done to get on the wrong side of him?"

"You don't know? Of course you don't. After you ran off yesterday, Gally started to push Thomas around saying that he recognised him. Got a bit out of hand. Long story short, it ended up with this klunkhead being thrown out of the Homestead."

"Really?" I said, intent on finding out the truth. "Exactly what was it that you did to get yourself thrown out of the Homestead for?"

Greenie glanced down at his shoes, clearly not wanting to answer the question. "I-uh-I went upstairs in the Homestead to find answers."

Chuck nudged Greenie with his elbow, sharply ending that conversation. I would have to get it out of him at a later date. We continued to walk through the crowd, getting closer but not to close. Then we waited in silence. I heard a door slam shut behind us, and I crooked my head to see Newt and Alby heading over from the Homestead. Both looked exhausted.

They pushed themselves to the front, standing right over the doors that led to the Box. Everyone quietened, the grinds and the rattles of the Box becoming more prominent as it rose. A muffled boom announced that the elevator had arrived.

I watched in anticipation as Leader and co took their positions on the opposite sides of the shaft doors – a crack formed splitting the metal square right down the middle. Hook-handles were attached on both sides, and together they yanked them apart. With a metallic scrape the doors were opened and a puff of dust from surrounding stone rose into the air.

Complete silence settled over the Gladers. _Maybe it's another girl, to keep me company,_ I thought. It would be nice that I was no longer the odd one out. At least there would be someone else.

As Newt leaned over for a better look into the Box, the Glade became so quiet that a bleating goat could be heard in the distance, echoing across the courtyard. I etched forward for just a glimpse at the new Greenbean.

With a sudden jerk, Newt pushed back into an upright position his face scrunched up in confusion. "I don't think this is good," he breathed, looking around at nothing in particular.

By this time, Alby had gotten a good look as well, with a similar reaction. "What happened down there?" He murmured.

A chorus of questions filled the Glade, the boys' intent on finding out why Newt and Alby were shocked. Everyone pushed forward to get a glimpse into the small opening. As a result, I ended up getting squished in between Chuck and another boy I didn't know.

"Everyone move back," Alby shouted, silencing everyone. "Move back!"

"Well, what's wrong?" someone shouted back.

Alby stood up. "Three Newbies in a week," he said, almost in a whisper. "Now this. Two years, nothin' different, now this." Then, for some reason he looked directly at Greenie. "What's goin' on here, Greenie?"

"How am I supposed to know," Greenie roughly replied. "Don't know anything that goes on here!"

"Why don't you just tell us what the shuck is down there, Alby?" Gally called out. There were more murmurs and another surge forward.

"You shanks shut up," Alby yelled. "It's not what ya think, tell 'em Newt."

Newt looked down in the Box one last time, then faced the crowd gravely.

"It's another boy," Newt started. His response greeted with disapproving murmurs. "But, as Alby has said it's not what ya think."

Everyone started to talk at once. I was only able to catch pieces here and there about why this new Greenbean was causing a scene.

Newt shushed them again. "That's not bloody half of it," he said, pointing down the Box. "I think he's dead."

After the commotion of trying to settle everyone back down, Alby ordered that there at least be five metres between the Box and us, so we wouldn't swamp the body when it came up. He sent a couple of boys to grab ropes made from ivy to lower Newt and Alby within, so that the boy's body could be retrieved. Around me, boys milled about with solemn faces, kicking loose stones and not saying much at all. No one dared to admit the curiosity all nibbling away at us, the new Greenie and the fuss he had caused. Why would the Creators send up two boys over two days? One alive, one dead. It made no sense, especially if you added my arrival into the mixture.

Deep within the shaft, Alby's voice boomed commanding Gally and a couple of others to start pulling on the rope. A few grunts later, the motionless body of the boy was dragged out across the edge of the door and onto one of the stone blocks that made up the ground of the Glade. Everyone, again, ran forward, forming a packed crowd around the body. A few mutters of disapproval was thrown the dead boy's way. Not even death was good enough for these lot.

Despite the interest, I stayed behind the crowd, lingering with Chuck on the side lines. I didn't bother to force my way through the tightly packed crowd for I knew that I would have been squished alive. I only caught glimpses of what the boy looked like, but with that I created a fairly good picture. He was a thin, olive skinned lad, but not too small, more muscle. I guess around six foot in height, looking around eighteen or nineteen. His hair was dark and cut short. But the thing that stood out the most was the dark long gash that jagged down his face.

Newt and Alby scrambled out of the Box, forcing themselves through the crowd towards the body of the lifeless boy. A few seconds later the group parted in two different directions, and one of them led straight to me.

"Clarke, over here," Newt said as he pointed a finger at me. Then he pointed at another. "And you, Greenie."

My heart jumped into my throat; my hands sweating with fear. I forced myself forward, knowing that eyes were directed at me. As I passed the line of boys, glares were thrown my way, baring all responsibility for why the new Greenie turned up. I refused eye contact with anyone apart from Newt, making sure that I my eyes didn't give away how terrified I was at that very point in time.

I approached Newt the same time Greenie did. Now, I could feel my hands begin to tremble. I balled them up into my fists and waited for it to die down. Why does everything go wrong when I'm around?

Newt gestured for both of us towards the Greenbean, whispering for just us to hear. "Ya can tell me if you know anythin', do you know this shank? Recognise him in any way?"

I looked up to Newt's eye line and shook my head fearlessly. His eyes spoke with slight disappointment, his mouth twitching as if to say something more. Newt broke the gaze and turned to face Greenie.

"You know this boy, shank?" Alby asked, sounding a little pissed.

Greenie's eyes grew wide with shock when the questioned was aimed towards him. "Know him? Of course I don't know him. I don't know anyone, except you guys."

"Not what I meant, shank. I meant does he look familiar at all? Any kind of feelin'?" Alby said through gritted teeth, his patience clearly being tested. "Girlie, you must know. Both injured on the day of your arrival."

"Uh, how does that connect us?" I asked.

Alby only let out a frustrated sigh and a wave of his hand in my direction. "Well, Greenie, anythin'?"

"Nothing," Greenie said. He looked down towards his feet, then back up to where the boy lay.

Alby's forehead creased. "You both sure?" He looked like he didn't believe a word that we said, no matter how much we said no.

I minutely started to shuffle away from the spot in the middle the crowd, trying to get out of the glaring spotlight placed on top of me. Alby continued to glare at Greenie, angry at him for causing the situation, which he hadn't.

"Shuck it," Alby muttered, looking down at the boy. "Can't be a coincidence. One week, three Greenies, one crazy, one alive, one dead."

"Hey, who you call–" I started to say before I was cut off with Newt grabbing my arm and pulling me into his chest, a hand firmly clamped over my mouth. I squirmed to try and free myself, but I wasn't going anywhere.

"Stop movin', you'll only provoke him," Newt hissed in my ear, pulling my arm back further to stop me from struggling.

"You don't think I …" Greenie started.

"Slim it, Greenie," Newt said. "We ain't sayin' you bloody killed the lad."

My mind began to spin. I wasn't entirely sure if I recognised the boy, or even Greenie. But something poked at the back of my mind, a nagging sensation that thought otherwise. The brain cannot create new faces, it only recollects those seen from day-to-day lives. The face I saw below me gave warning signs to be recognised, but the strong memory block refused entry into logging who it was.

"I swear he doesn't look familiar at all," Greenie said with a hint of anger rising with each word he spoke.

"Are you–"

Before Newt could finish what he was saying, the dead boy shot up into a sitting position. As he sucked in a huge breath of air, his eyes snapped open and blinked, looking round at the crowd that surrounded him. Alby cried out of shock and fell backwards. Newt gasped and jumped, our feet intertwining, bringing us both down crashing to the floor. Greenie didn't move, his gaze locked with the boy sat on the ground, frozen in fear.

Bright green eyes darted back and forth as he took deep breaths to reveal his deprived lungs. His mouth twitched with words, mumbling them over and over again.

"_Rachel?_ Rachel?"

His darting eyes died down as he registered with the unfamiliar place he found himself in. He turned to Greenie, words once again sprouting from his mouth.

"Thomas is that you? Where's Rachel, Thomas? Where is she?"

I shuffled away from Newt's grasp and rose into a sitting position. I smashed the coward within in and started to edge forward towards the confused undead boy. His eyes suddenly snapped to mine, the confusion in his eyes quickly replaced with pure hatred. He placed his hands out in front of him on the floor and started too shuffled towards me. Once he got over halfway, one hand shot up and started to grab at the air. I backed up as best I could, fear now pumping through my veins.

Unfortunately I wasn't fast enough. He gripped my left wrist as tightly as he could, forcing my sleeve down, revealing the message hidden underneath. Fear and panic mixed together as I tried to free myself from the death grip, but it was right and unforgiven, especially when he forced my arm up into the air.

The boy locked eyes with me, his burning green eyes shooting me down. His mouth once again formed words, but this time it was just one that came out – his voice hollow and haunted, but clear.

"Bad."

I stared in fear as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. His right fist shot into the air as he landed, staying rigid as he grew still, pointing towards the sky. Clutched within that hand was a wadded piece of paper.

I tried to swallow the bile forming in my mouth, but the fear inside me was too scared to do so. What on earth had happened in these last thirty seconds? Events occurred so fast that my brain struggled to compute. The dead boy had suddenly awoken from his death-like sleep, launched himself on me, and called me bad. Well, that goes for not standing out any more then I already do.

Braving up a bit, I decided to raise a shaky hand towards the fist and pried his fingers apart, grabbing the paper that was inside. With it safely in my grasp, I kicked the heavy boy of my legs and opened the note to reveal a haunting message. Newt and Greenie moved to my side, trying to get a better look at what it said.

Scrawled across the paper in thick black letters were five words:

_He's the last one._

_Ever._


	12. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life. ~ Winston Churchill_

* * *

The Glade plunged into silence, as if a large vacuum had been placed above and sucked out all the sound; odd it was. The dead boy, now lying still on the ground, was not dead anymore. Newt had gently taken the paper from my shaking hands and read it aloud to those who couldn't see it, but instead of erupting into a state of confusion, the Gladers all stood around, astonished.

I expected some shouts, questions, even an argument to explode from some characters. Nothing of the sort came out. All eyes were glued to the boy lying on the floor, asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling with shallow breaths. He was very much alive, and we all knew it.

I rose from my sitting position on the floor, backing up away from the comatose. I kept my eyes glued to him, making sure that he wouldn't suddenly jump up and attack me again. Newt took my side, lightly taking my elbows, guiding me away from the hushed crowd. I was still in shock from the events that just unfolded. He led me to a nearby tree, far from the Gladers but that bit close so that nothing important was missed. Letting go of me, I sunk down the tree, the rough bark scraping up my back as I fell.

"It's alright," Newt whispered as he knelt in front me. "He couldn't have meant you, it could have been Greenie for all we knew. You were the first person he leeched on."

I whimpered in response, burying my head into my lap. I felt Newt's hand tapping my head, trying to comfort me.

I tried my absolute best not to stick out, to be hidden among the crowd. Yet, it seemed that whatever I did always ended up with me in the centre of attention. All I could gather from the arrival was the idea I, indeed, was not expected in any way, and neither was he.

A fit of frustration came over me, the need to rub the writing on my arm remove its existence from my arm. Nevertheless, no matter how hard I tried to rub, it wouldn't go. Nothing would go.

"Stop that!" Newt exclaimed as he turned from watching the Box. He grabbed my hands from each other, fighting them both from attacking one another as best as he could.

"I don't want it. None of this. I want to go home!" I growled as I tried to yank my hands from his grip. He refused to let go, staring me down with his dark brown eyes. "Let go of my hands. This instant!"

With that demand, Newt dropped my hands onto my lap. He stood up from his kneeling position in front of me and leant against the tree above me. His dark eyes focused back to the scene over by the Box. Letting out a deep sigh, he cross to stand beside me and in turn slid down the side of the tree till he was sat next to me, his head resting on the bark, his eyes closed. I watched for a few minutes as he inhaled and exhaled in a rhythmic beat, as if he was asleep. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had.

"Haven't you got something better to do then sit here?" I questioned him, hoping that he would at least hear me.

"Yeah, I do," Newt replied, not opening his eyes. "But, Alby said this mornin' I was supposed to keep an eye on ya, in case you do anythin' … weird."

I huffed in response, annoyed that I was considered weird. I turned my attention back to the commotion that went on around the Box. Clint and Jeff had appeared by Alby's side after I was whisked away. He wanted them to move the unconscious boy into the Homestead where an eye could be kept on him.

How did I know this? Alby had been yelling his commands for the past five minutes, becoming very frustrated with every word he spoke. Clint bent over to examine the boy, picking up an arm then dropping it. After a few moments, he stood up and spoke to Alby on his left.

With a flick of the leaders' wrist, he nodded in agreement with what was said. My eyes narrowed as I watched Jeff step over to grab the boy by his arms, while Clint took hold of him by the feet. They lifted his body with great effort – he must have been heavier than they had expected. Alby leaned in one more time to have a closer look at his face. Satisfied, he nodded the Med-jacks away to the Homestead, the boy bouncing as they went.

"You've never seen him before?" came Newt's voice by me. His eyes were now open, watching the same scene as I was.

"I've already said that I don't," I said through gritted teeth, trying to avoid a snappy tone. I was sick of the consent questions that were asked of me. I had already answered them, they must listen to me and not doubt my words.

"You sure?" Newt probed, rising from his position on the ground. Once he was fully upright, he turned and extended a hand in my direction. I grasped it and pulled myself up until I, to, was standing. We both made our way back to the lessening crowd, where Alby and Greenie stood on the outskirts.

"… Why are you grilling me like this?" Greenie asked as we approached them in mid-conversation.

Alby shook his head in disagreement, then turned to Newt. "Something's whacked. We need answers. Call a Gatherin'." He said this gently enough that only I and the key surrounding people could here. Then the leader and co walked off, leaving Greenie and I alone in silence.

"What's a Gathering?" Greenie questioned, his eyebrow raised.

Shrugging my shoulders, I replied with the best answer I could give. "I think, now don't quote me on this, when the Keepers meet when somethin' weird happens. They had one when I turned up."

"It's also to decide punishments," came a squeaky voice from beside me. Chuck had approached from behind, intent on scaring the living daylights out of us. "And Runners."

"Thanks for the input," I mumbled. "Now what do you want?"

Chuck looked up to me, his mouth partially opened, when a loud rumbling sound interrupting what he wanted to say. I turned to see Greenie's face deepening into a bright shade of red. "I didn't finish my breakfast this morning," he stuttered as embarrassment flooded him. "Is there any food to eat?"

I sighed with annoyance. At a time like this, all he can think about is food! Placing my hands on my hips, I spoke words that I made sure that wouldn't hint at my anger. "Come on then, Frypan must have somethin'."

* * *

The kitchen was not far away from where Chuck, Greenie and I stood by the Box. Carefully, we snuck into the building, making sure that we weren't seen by Frypan or any of his cooks. It was fairly big, the Kitchen, with everything in it that could make a decent meal. A big oven, a microwave, a dishwasher, a couple of tables. All the essentials placed within, but it seemed old and rundown; thankfully clean.

The last time I had stepped foot in these parts was when I created a huge mess of the place. I'm surprised Frypan was able to get the mess out of the walls.

"Chuck, I'm gonna leave you to it. I've got stuff to do," I said as I left them both ransacking a cupboard.

I felt an inclination to go back and once more search through my bag; to try and find something that may have helped with who I was. As I entered outside, I headed straight for the Homestead, walking through the open door and tiptoeing towards my room. Silently, I opened the door. Once safety inside, I again silently closed the door, pushing the door slowly so that the click wasn't as loud as it could have been.

My room was of basic nature, with everything that would normally be found in a room. The walls were white-washed, no distinguish colour about them; in places they were peeling. A small cot was located underneath a very small window. Window, no, what I meant is a square hole in the wall. It never rained here, so there wasn't a need for glass to protect the inside. A single light hung from the ceiling, dirt smothering the tips of it. The small cot was the best part of the room, the sleeping bag laying on top on a not-so-comfortable mattress – lovely.

Alone, finally, I let out a long sigh of relief and jumped on the thin bed, knocking my bag off in the process. I hadn't realised how tired I actually was, waking up at god-knows-what-time running round the Glade, and the nightmares that kept me awake whenever I had them. No one really knew about what I was going through, the fear of falling asleep. Eventually, someone would find out and ask questions I couldn't answer.

I sat up from lying down, bending down to pick up one of the fallen notebooks from the floor. I skimmed through it, scanning each page as it fluttered by. The circles etched within the book meant something important, a code of some sort that told all the answers I needed. I read over that book, over and over again, trying to make sense of what was needed to solve it.

I individually separated each page on my lap as I studied the circles intently. Few hours' sleep seemed to catch up fast as each page I turned again and again started to blur into one. Circles formed into a mess on the page as my eyes tried to shut, searing pain vanquished as they closed tight. A quiet, muffled thud echoed through my room as the book, placed on my lap, fell onto the floor.

My mind still fully conscious, I felt my body slowly collapse onto the thin mattress; a small silver string lightly tugging my mind into a dark unforgiving sleep. As my head crashed onto the bed, the silver string's pull became stronger, pulling me into a nightmare that I truly though I could never wake from.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss. _

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss. _

_My eyes snapped open to darkness. A darkness that was dimly lit by an unknown source of light. I closed them again and wished for my body to wake up, but it wouldn't. I was stuck here, inside my head to face the nightmares. _

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss. _

_I, again, opened my eyes to the strange darkness to see where exactly I was placed. At this point I could only see above, a dull metallic ceiling that reflected the light that came into a sort of metal room. Now fully awake, I tried to sit up from lying on the strange bench, but I couldn't, my arms and legs were bound tightly by something hard and unforgiven. Panic surged up as I tried to twist my arms and legs free from my bonds. A few moments of trying to do this, the bonds simply clicked open and I was released from the bed._

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss. _

_I quickly detached myself from the unforgiving bench, not wanting to get locked in again if I left my arms and legs in there for too long. _

_I hopped off the bed and to my disappointment I saw that I was stuck standing in a small metallic room with no exit. The room quickly reminded me of my unpleasant journey up in the Box, how alone I was, and how very trapped I felt. I clutched my stomach to stop it from throwing up. Where the heck was I? _

_For one thing, it didn't feel like a nightmare or a dream. It felt completely real. Another memory that I would have to act out, again._

_A small light was located on the far corner of the room, emitting as much light its small stature could do. Which wasn't enough for my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness. _

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss._

_It was chilly inside the metallic room, with nothing around any source of warmth. The best I could do was place myself into a corner and hug my knees until some warmth came back into them. But that wouldn't happen, the thin hospital gown that I wore brought no warmth or comfort, just the smell of death and despair. My head collapsed into my knees, creating a small ball that I could curl into. _

_Who knows how long I was in that room for?_

_The next thing I knew, a low click came from the opposite wall. I peered up from my tight ball to see a door appear on the other side of the room. The door stood out like a sore thumb. Unlike the metallic room, the door was a soft brown colour, presumably was wood. A large, golden handle beckoned my hand to open the fine wooden door and to peek at the wonders that could be found beyond it._

_I was suspicious at first, the door suddenly appearing when I wasn't looking. Was this some sort of test? Was I expected to go through that door? I waited to see if my theory was correct. I wasn't going through unless dragged through kicking and screaming. _

_I waited and waited, but for a while nothing did. There was nothing to tell me to go through the door, so I wouldn't. _

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

_You would say that that was the first time I had registered the strange noise that vibrated throughout the room. Its sequence had changed over the time I spent here. Whatever was out there made me want to stay in this metallic box and not leave more. _

_Now aware of the noise beyond, I focused in on them, waiting for the next sequence to come. I remained sitting in the corner, curled up in a ball, anticipating the next sounds to rumble through. There was at least a five minute gap between each one, but not this time. Twenty minutes passed before I knew any better. _

_I zoned out in that time waiting, my mind trying to think up possible ways to escape the memory I found myself in. After a while, a noise started to play in the room. It sounded exactly like a smoke alarm. At first it was like a ringing sound in my ears, but seconds later it amplified enough that it drowned out any thought I had. I covered my ears with my hands, nonetheless the sound only got louder and louder. _

"_Turn it off!" I yelled to whoever flicked the switch. In response, the volume only increased. My head felt like it would split in half from the noise if it didn't stop promptly._

_I stumbled away from the wall, the volume immediately lowering from a deafening shriek to a piercing whistle. I took another step towards the wooden door and the volume dropped a fraction of what it was. I took another towards the wooden door and the volume dropped a fraction of what it was. Something clicked in my head and I got the hint. When my hand touched the golden brass handle, the noise dropped to an annoying buzz._

_So that's what they want me to do, to risk my life and go through this unknown doorway. The ringing cut off entirely when I pressed down on the handle. Even though I resented the torture, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. _

_But, I waited there too long to open the door, and the heinous buzzing resumed. They desperately wanted me to go through this door. Curiosity grabbed me, and I hastily released my hand from the handle. The piercing noise in my ears reached siren level, my eyes watering. _

_Without thinking, I clutched the handle and pushed it down, but the wailing kept going on. The noise wouldn't' going to stop until I went through that door. I had no time to process what was going on; all I wanted was the noise to end. _

_So, I hesitantly pulled on the door to see if the noise would lower to the annoying buzzing sound. It did not; they weren't taking any chances this time. They wanted me to go through that door. My exit now pulled fully wide open, I ran through to escape that horrid room into … another room. This just keeps getting worse and worse._

_The door swung shut behind me, its boom ringing through the white room which I now found myself in. This room was completely empty; nothing littered the floors, nothing littered walls. I glanced behind me to see if the wooden door was there, again it had disappeared from view leaving no exit. Unsure of what I was supposed to do, I walked to the other side to try and discover if there was anything of interest that I might come across. But the more I walked, the further away I got from the wall. Well, what I thought was a wall._

_My bare feet plodded along the hard ground, until something soft tickled the bottom of them. I peeped down to discover that I was no longer standing on the white harsh floor, but in a patch of bright green grass. _

Where had that come from? _I thought._

_The patch looked strange against the harsh white room, the colour bright against the white. Though it was strange, I didn't complain one bit, for I accepted the brief relief from the cold, hard ground I'd been walking on. I wriggled my toes in the grass, letting the soft ends tickle my feet. A small giggle escaped from me as I did this. I must have been mad._

_The grass stirred beneath my feet, a dark stem weaving and twisting, a small bud forming at the end of it. I studied the strange show of the little flower blossoming so swiftly beneath me; a little red rose exploding from it. My brows furrowed together in confusion towards the strange plant that finished growing. A small smile creeped along my face with the fascination of how this plant go do something as extraordinary as this. _

_Boom._

_My head snapped up to the deafening sound. But, my confusion was, once again, greeted with an extraordinary happenings. A bright, brilliant blue sky splashed itself up above me, white fluffy clouds drifting along over my head._

"_This is odd," I mumbled, arching my head all the way up. "No sun, though."_

_I gazed back down towards earth for an answer, to find that trees had grown around me. I, the centre. I spun on my heel to try and registered the magic behind the illusion, to discover I stood in a small meadow with the only flower located right in front of me. _

_I, like the clouds, drifted away from the flower towards the line of trees to find an exit. A noise started to play throughout the room, the same annoying buzz that I dealt with in the metallic one. Immediately, I stopped in my tracks, the annoying buzz carrying on. _

_I cautiously took another step towards the glade of trees. Instantly, the buzzing sound increased in volume to a piercing whistle once more. _

"_Fine," I said, holding my hands up in defeat. I guessed what they wanted and made my way back to where the flower stood high and mighty. I positioned my feet in their original spot and waited. The noise returned to an irritating buzz. "What am I supposed to do?" I called out to the nothingness. _

"_Survive," a gruff voice replied, vibrating around the room._

"_Survive exactly what?"_

"_Pick the flower and survive," was all that was said._

_I paused for a few moments, testing the people behind the button. I knew they were watching, there presence clearly indicated with the interaction. Waiting only amplified the annoying buzzing to an ear piercing screech. Unable to bear the noise, I bent down and snapped the thin stem of the rose. I clutched it tightly in my hands and thrusted it up into the air for the people to see._

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Hiss._

_In return, a thunderous roar boomed across the room, the trees shaking with fear. The ones directly in front of me started to shake, threatening snaps becoming predominantly louder as it got closer. The ground shook beneath me, dirt rising as it tore apart. _

"Clarke?" _a muffled voice spoke behind me, familiar but unseen. _"Wake up, Clarke!"

_The whispers of the voice increased in volume as I stumbled backwards from where I stood. _

_Trees collapsed as another roar bellowed from the direction. I spotted tips of a horns bobbing above the treeline, heading straight for me. What was I supposed to do, protect myself with a flimsy flower? Prick it to death? I growled in frustration, picked my feet up and ran for the furthest away trees. _

_I heard the final defence of trees crack behind me, I turned my head to see, for the first time, the creature that hunted me down. The stench that radiated off that thing was foul, its grey furry body oozing with a green gooey liquid that emitted the horrid stink. _

_Its body stood at least fifteen feet tall and forty feet wide, gigantic. The creature's face was squashed in many places, a large scar running down the left side of its face. Something must have gotten to it if it was able to injury the nasty creature. The mouth, however, stopped me dead in my tracks – frozen in fear. Too scared to run. Two sharp, long tusks stuck up curving round its head. A few teeth poking out._

_How the hell was I supposed to bloody well survive with only a shucking flower?_

"Wake up, Clarke!"_ the voice spoke once again. The creature reacted badly to it, lifting its enormous body from the ground onto its hind legs, roaring in anger. The surrounding trees quivered from fear. The room shook as the creature landed back onto the ground, anger filling its large yellow eyes. Not good news._

"Just throw water over her, she might wake up then," _a different voice spoke, replacing the old._

"_I don't want to die," I screamed at the people watching. A final roar came from its mouth, and it charged in my direction. I forced myself to move, willing my legs to run as fast as I could. But, I was a slug and it was a lion._

_One of the creature's front legs hooked round my waist, dragging me back towards it. I screamed in fear as its long, sharp claws digging into my skin. I screamed in pain as I felt a warm sensation along my waist. I screamed for death to come._


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

_Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it for twenty-four hours a day. ~ The Book Thief_

* * *

I awoke in a screaming fit, kicking and thrashing anything that tried to touch me. Rough hands attempted to hold my wild arms down, but I only smacked them away. Nothing was going to touch me, nothing was going to hurt me.

"Grab her arms," a voice spoke as strong hands clamped down on mine. They were both securely glued to the bed, only allowing me to be able to wriggle and squirm. I tried doing the same with my arms, struggling to free them from their prison. No such luck. Whoever had a hold on me had a very firm grip.

"Open your damn eyes, shank," a newer voice hissed into my ear, mixed with a sense of irritation. I wriggled more, still wanting to free myself. That wasn't going to work. So, I snapped them open to the faces of Newt and Alby struggling to keep my wailing my arms under control. A nasty scratch wept across Gally's face, droplets of blood sweeping out, each one falling onto the sleeve of my shirt. He looked very pissed. Mustn't have been his style to be attacked by a crazed girl.

I snapped them shut once more, willing myself to control my breathing. The only way I was getting out of here was if I was able to get myself calm. Easier said than done.

I tried the first calming method that sprung to mind. I imagined myself in a complete white room … no, I'll skip that one. The dancing city lights was the next one that sprung to mind, sparkling in the wind, the clouds … not again.

Think of nothing, god-damn-it, nothing.

I willed my arms to stop themselves, calming them down. As this happened, the grip on my arm slowly loosened until I was able to pull them into my chest. I reopened my eyes and sat up to take in the surroundings. I noticed instantly that Gally had left the room, his presence sucking out the darkness of the room – I have yet to start liking him. Alby stood in the centre, his arms crossed, and Newt sat next to me on the bed, worry written across his face.

"What the hell was that, shank?" Alby demanded as he crossed the room and towered over me. His eyes blazed with anger, his face reddening. Any madder and I bet steam would have blown from his eyes. "Well?"

"Nothin'." I squeaked.

"Really. That's was nothin'?"

"Yes!"

Alby didn't waver, his scowl intensified, his brows knitted together. He really was a very angry boy. "You're gonna tell me what that was all about," he demanded once again, his hands flexing. I dropped my gaze to my hands, unable to make eye contact. This was a subject that I did not want to talk about, with anyone. I hoped that my silence would indicate how much this topic was not the best thing to talk about.

"One chance, Clarke. Tell us or you're spendin' night in the Slammer," Alby threatened, a hint of a smirk on his face. Out of spite, I kept my mouth shut. The whole ordeal seemed highly unfair. Just because I was keeping back information. Course, I also ignored my mind – which I seem to be doing quite frequently. I wanted to figure all this out on my own, cause it was just that bit too personal at the moment. I crossed my arms out of stubbornness and stared Alby down. If I was going to lose this battle, it was going to be done with a bang.

"Fine, you had that chance. Newt grab her." As he said this, the traitor grabbed my arm and pulled me up from my bed. I was escorted through the Homestead, boys gawking left and right as I walked them to the outside. Alby pushed the door open and stalked to where the Slammer lay. As we walked through the diminishing daylight, we walked side by side with Homestead. We turned a corner to discover the most obscure place in the whole Glade. The Slammer stood between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like that hadn't been trimmed at all. It was a big block of roughly cut concrete, with one tiny, barred window and a wooden door that was locked with a menacing rusty metal latch.

Somehow, the door seemed to remind me of something that previously happened. Of course, I have no idea what.

Alby took out a key and opened it up, leaving the door wide open. From here, all I could see was one piece of furniture – an ugly, rickety chair with one leg shorter than the rest, probably done on purpose. There was no cushion. I held my head high, masking the deep embarrassment I felt inside that punched at an inner wall trying to pour its way in. Not this time embarrassment, you can stay exactly where you are.

"I'm feelin' a bit nice today. Final chance, tell me what is wrong with ya and you won't have to spend the night in this _lovely_ place. I'll give you till the count of one." Alby lifted his hand up, four fingers and a thumb spread out. "5 … 4 … 3 …"

I kept my mouth shut, head held up high. I so badly wanted to tell him about the going-ons in my head, the nightmares and memories that I've been having. But, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It was as if my mouth refused to speak the words my mind screamed at it. _Say them, say the words!_ it screamed

"… 2 …" Alby raised an eyebrow, expecting me to suddenly spill everything and stop messing him around. Unfortunately for him, I seemed to have an inherited stubborn nature and wanted to test the limits, see how far I could go before he snapped.

"… 1 … Right, Newt put her in," Alby barked, his eyes flaring. He looked more pissed than Gally, which wasn't hard. Newt glanced down at me, his eyes full of sorrow. Why didn't he do something? Chicken.

I shook my arm from his grasp and walked into the cell unassisted. A bang is what a wanted and a bang is what I got. A very big one indeed.

Alby slammed the door shut behind me. "You're in 'ere now until tomorrow mornin'. Got anythin' to say that may potentially shorten it?"

"Fuck you," I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that?" I spun on my heel to see that Alby had stormed off and left Newt behind looking through the window. That was embarrassing. My face flushed red and I hid from sight.

"Nice view," was all I could say from my corner. _Lovely save, now you look like an absolute idiot,_ I sarcastically thought to myself. Before Newt could even reply, a deathly scream erupted from the tree line. I scooted towards the window and saw two figures running fast towards anywhere. I watched (from my limited view) as the second figure, only dressed in white shorts, tackle his prey to the ground. No one made an attempt to try and rescue the boy, they all stood there dumbfounded.

I cleared my throat to see if the frozen Newt would react, he did. He turned his head in my direction, his eyes not living the fight until he fully looked at me.

"You gonna help?" I suggested with a hint of sarcasm laced within my words. His mouth formed into an _oh_ to which he realised the problem and scampered off to try and stop the fight.

Many boys had now snapped out of what they were doing and rushed over to try and help. The crazed figure must have been Ben; no one in their right mind would have pranced about in nothing but their pants and attacked people. The Changing must have started to have a negative effect on him. The screams that came from his room were not the prettiest and seemed to not improve as each one sounded less human.

I couldn't do much here, or even see that much, from being locked in a concrete box behind the Homestead. After a few moments, Alby rushed to the fight, an arrow nocked into his bow. He pulled back the string and seemed to threaten Ben, or at least try and make him see sense. There wasn't much I couldn't make out, until Ben screamed at the top of his lungs _"Shut your face!"_ and launched himself at Alby, his arms thrashing about with a small, sharp object clasped in one.

The world slowed down as there was a sound of snapping string and a slick object whooshed through the air. The object implanted itself in Ben, as he violently snapped his head to the left, his body twisting in on itself until he landed on his stomach.

I crept back from the window of the Slammer and made my way to the far corner of the cell room, the image of Ben's death firmly implanted within my mind. I sunk down the edge of the wall and curled myself into a tight ball. The image consistently replaying over and over again. This was my first time I had watched someone die, and it sure wasn't my last.


	14. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

_HUMAN BEINGS MAKE LIFE SO INTERESTING. DO YOU KNOW, THAT IN A UNIVERSE SO FULL OF WONDERS, THEY HAVE MANAGED TO INVENT BOREDOM. (Death) ~ Terry Pratchett, Hogfather_

* * *

Being locked within a dark, concrete box for the night has the idea that one may not become so bored so quickly. Yet, that was exactly what happened. I tried making myself comfortable on the wooden seat located in the middle, but soon found that it was easier to curl up into a ball in the corner of the room – somehow it my bones didn't ache as much, that was until pins and needles set in. God-damn you pins and needles, the pain of everyone's life.

Lying there didn't give me much. It was all too unsettling being in the Box, the feeling of entrapment. I didn't enjoy it. Boredom was another part. As twilight had only settled in, there was no reason to sleep yet. Going to sleep wasn't a first priority for me, eventually I would, but that feeling, the feeling of entrapment, seemed to collapse around me.

Instead, to distract myself, I recalled all the nightmares that I had been happening and how random they all seemed to be. By the looks of it, there wasn't anything in common between them. Apart from the fact that they all felt like they were real. More than the nightmares should have been.

I then moved onto thinking up possibilities to try and escape. I knew I couldn't, but it was all part of passing the time of boredom. To be honest, one foot out of this Slammer would have me end up back here, with an even longer sentence. But I still thought them up. They mainly consisted of not being caught and very willing to live in the Maze. I wasn't prepared to do either, I'd rather stay here and survive. That's what the Doctor said, I think. I can't quite remember. The meeting, if that's what it was called. I can't quite remember anything. Memories, they all seem to be fading again. The new ones, gone.

Who am I? Where am I? Where is everyone? Why am I alone?

_Your Clarke O. _

_You're in the Glade._

_In a Slammer for messing around._

_Get a grip of yourself, woman!_ my mind's muffled screams echoed throughout. Something wasn't right up there in my head. I'm sure it was only a previous life that was taken from us, not the new one as well. I really was the weird one after all. WICKED did have it out for me.

With the weird episode in the past, I pulled myself up from the floor and rested my back against the wall. Dust had built up over my boots, dry mud crusting the edges of it. These boots were mine for sure, and they knew what went on over a week ago. They knew all the secrets that I didn't. They knew who I was. Now would have been a good time for these boots to animate themselves.

Half an hour later, the ivy covered tombstones boomed shut, signalling the end of the day, separating the two worlds once more. Everyone was done for the night, everything was still. No one bothered me the whole time I had been sat in here; they were probably too scared of facing Alby's wrath if they did. Which wasn't fun, trust me.

Twilight faded quickly into the darkness as each Glader in turn took to their sleeping bags to rest for the night. I, of course, had only a chair to sleep on. I dragged it from the centre of the room, flipped it on its side and placed it against the wall. I rested against the seat of the chair, the wooden material given some warmth instead of the cold wall.

I mostly drifted in and out of consciousness over the period of the night, my mind to full awake to want to sleep anymore. A pain in the arse, but I was grateful for it. Every time my eyes shut for a few moments, the creature would flash across. Sometimes Ben's violent death would also appear. They wouldn't leave my head.

At one point, I must have dozed off completely because the next thing that I knew was my body being gently shook by the shoulders. I awoke with a start to see a face staring down into mine. I jumped from the shock as I tried to remember where I was. I hadn't really dreamt; my body didn't allow itself to go into a deep enough sleep, it went into some sort of standby mode, the one when there's danger about. It remembered something that I didn't, and it knew what to do when I didn't.

My eyesight hazy, I could only make out the rough outline of who was in front of me. The room was dully lit, as if only dawn was starting to break. Finally, my eyes fully adjusted from the rude awakening to see that it was in fact Newt that had awoken me. I wasn't too pleased with this. It was the first sort of sleep I had since I woke up on the bed. No dreams came to haunt me.

Achy all over, a stretched out my arms and yawned.

"What time is it?" I asked Newt, who had stepped back when he saw my eyes open.

"Early. Doors haven't opened yet," he replied.

"Then, what do you want?" I demanded, slightly annoyed that I had been awoken at an ungodly hour.

"I want to know."

"About what?"

"You know what I mean, Clarke. It's better if ya tell someone instead of bottlin' up."

"I don't know what you mean," I dismissed. But I fully well did. I waved a hand in his direction and stood up from the floor, my limbs cracking from being curled up on the hard ground. I bent down and picked up the chair, dragging it back to the middle of the floor.

"You can trust me," he said. That would have been nice, to trust someone. Not just yet, though. Not when I'm still learning. "I knew you wouldn't, so I'm prepared to make a deal. Ya tell me what's going on and I'll tell you the story of the limp."

"Is it a good story?"

"It's probably worth whatever you're keepin' from us."

"I bet that's true," I snapped. I let go of the back of the chair and crossed to the door that now laid open. I thought about leaving and shutting the door behind me. But what good would that bring anyone. Let alone me.

"Who goes first?" I finally asked after my brief deliberation.

"The one that refuses." A small smile curved up his lips as he knew I would have to start. But why offer up his story for mine? There must be something more to this trusting malarkey then what he was giving off.

"Fine, one question before I start."

"What is that?"

"Ben, is he really dead."

"Yes," Newt said with gloomy eyes. "Alby's arrow went straight through his head, killed instantly. A quick death, better then what he would have gotten."

"And, what would that have been?"

"Banishment."

"Banishment," I repeated softly. That meant only one thing, out of the Glade and into the Maze to never return. No one survives the night, or so what I've been told. "Nightmares."

"What?"

"It's nightmares. Just nightmares."

Newt didn't seem convinced, he raised an eyebrow and nodded his head, expecting me to carry on with the story. He knew there was more to it.

"But there not really nightmares, well that's what I think. They seem way too real for that." I made my way back to the chair and turned it so I sat facing the open doorway. I pulled my legs up onto the chair and watched the outside world. "The ice creature was first. It dragged me over the edge of a cloud to my death. Chuck woke me up before I hit the ground. Second one was when I was stuck in a sub with some sort of slimy creature huntin' me down. Third, it was like the darkness was trying to hunt me down and kill me. There was a lot of gigglin' from children, and something cold scraping up my legs. The final one, the most recent. That seemed different to the others…"

I trailed off, not willing to carry on with the nightmares. It bought back to much pain, too much terror, too much fear. Wait, nightmares like these wouldn't bring this much fear unless there was a hint of truth in them. Maybe they were real, all of them. And I survived, there wasn't a need to worry. I decided to distract myself with the world beyond the doorway, more specifically the sky above. It always intrigued me, the way the clouds aimless drifted along, the colours that splashed across the sky. There was a yearning deep below to be up there, not down here.

"… to fresh." I finally continued, my eyes focused beyond. "I was forced from a metal room into a meadow and made to defeat a monster with teeth so sharp, even knives would run away in terror." My arms laid to rest on my stomach in the spots where the creature gripped hold of me. Very intrigued to see if my theory was correct, I lifted my shirt up to reveal my stomach. I examined them further to discover small little scars, all white as if they were fading, but they were there.

I hate it when I'm right.

My eyes widened in shock, my hand starting to tremble. These were smaller than expected, but they were there. Living proof that I went through that traumatic experience, and that I also survived it. How? Unknown.

It also meant that my brain worked round the clock to try and restore my memories for me. It could only grasp the strongest and scariest, yet it still meant that there was more to me that met the eye. I had to discover that the long way.

The tremor of my hands started the unwanted irregular motion of my heartbeat, my breath quickening to short and raspy.

"Clarke, take deep breaths," Newt said. He had jumped up from his spot on the floor and stood over me with a hand on my shoulder. "You're hyperventilatin'. Panickin' only makes it worse. Look follow me. Ready, deep breath in and out. Again, deep breath in and out. Again."

I mimicked what he did in front of me, following the instructions he gave me, as well as my mind, until I returned back to a normal breathing rate. After a minute or so, the heavy feeling in my chest seemed to fade away, allowing my body to relax. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the back of the chair, letting a long sigh out. I didn't rest for long, for Newt dragged me up from being arched over the chair, and into his arms. He wrapped them around me a stroked the back of my hair.

"There's no need to worry 'ere," he whispered. "Will protect you from all of your nightmares."

"Thank you," my muffled voice said. "And don't bother with the story, it ain't worth it. Save it for a rainy day."


	15. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

_One touch of nature makes the whole world kin ~ William Shakespeare _

* * *

Hours seemed to have passed since Newt appeared in the Slammer. I didn't want the time to end, I felt too comfortable, protected. Sitting here, enclosed in his arms, felt like the world could never hurt me. All the troubles melting away, and for the first time, I could properly breathe. I wanted nothing to disturb the peace, nothing internally and externally. Apart from the opening doors of the Maze and my stomach rumbling like mad. That was short lived.

"I have to go Clarke, but you're allowed out now," Newt whispered as he stood up from the floor. I watched as he brushed the dirt from his cargo trousers. "Go get somethin' to eat from Frypan's. I'm sure he won't mind givin' ya some earlier."

I nodded in agreement, and let him leave me in the Slammer for a moment. I took a breath of air then rose from the chair, brushing my trousers down and trying to fix my hair into place. A few steps later, I was back out in the outside world. I allowed the rising sun to soak myself in its warmth, banishing the coldness from within my bones.

The sky was a gorgeous shade of pinks and oranges that scattered across the blues. It was as if an artist had a moment of thought and threw their paint across the sky, not caring about the end result. It was nothing like I had seen before, or what I could remember. It didn't feel real. The light seemed just too perfect in my eyes, rays aligned within the sky at the right angles. Not one out of place.

"Hello, earth to Sun Princess, do ya need a shower?" Newt smirked from further down the path.

"The sun feels odd."

"That's because it's still early. Now, shower or not?"

"I don't think that's the sun."

"Come on, Clarke. Don't get all philosophical right now, it's too early. Yes or no?"

"Yes, but the sun. I've seen the sun, but it's not like that."

"We've all seen the sun, and that's it there." Newt pointed to the sky. "Come on, before ya'll miss the hot water."

Newt skittered towards me, grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the Slammer towards the wash house, located by the far side of the Kitchens. We skipped and jumped over sleeping bodies, making sure that we didn't end up with a foot in the stomach. A few times, we came close, an arm stretching out, someone shuffling into a better position. Stepping over Greenie almost got me caught, but I managed to step out of the way in time before his body crushed my foot. When I was far out of the danger zone, I tried to stifle my giggles upon looking at him. His mouth hung open, catching flies in his wake, a small trickle of dribble falling down the side of his check. At one point he snorted, his body twitching to regain breath. If only I had a camera at that second, it would have been the perfect picture moment.

"Clarke," Newt hissed from further across the Glade. He motioned for me to come towards him with his hand. Obviously, he didn't see the joke that I saw. One last look at the perfect picture, a wish for a camera, I shuffled away from the sleeping Greenie and snaked my way through the den of sleeping lions. That was a game. I swear. When I was a youngling, with other … _friends_. If I had any?

Anyway, I glanced back once I had cleared the sleeping ground, no one suddenly woke from being disturbed. Our secret mission was secret and a success.

Briskly we walked toward the wash house, our strides long and fast. We scurried past the Kitchens, Frypan milling around near the entrance clearing away the Runners plates from earlier, and made it too the building. It, of course, seemed designed purposely for what it was built for. Nothing had the ability to function within there. Thankfully, the building had a door to it, after what Chuck had told me, I think showers would have been on the banned list. I couldn't possibly have had one.

The toilets were also located in this building, dusted away in the corner of the building, with wash basins located inside them. All neat and tidy. Well, the layout was. Let's just say the rest looked like a nuclear explosion had gone off in here, twice. Could boys ever keep one thing clean? Towels and bottles were thrown across the floor, a few strung up on hooks that were dotted along the back of the wall. The towels were various shades of grey, dark, light, weird. I presumed they must have all been white at one point, that being a very long time ago. Bottles that were scattered across the ground lay either empty or half-full and others that seemed barely used.

"Newt, keep guard while I shower," I said to him.

"I won't let anyone in here. I promise on my life." He placed a fist over his chest and saluted with the other arm. "Need anythin' before I serve as your guard."

"A clean shirt would be nice," I answered as I pulled the ends of the one I already wore. "Don't want to get back into this."

Newt held up his finger, then darted off back into the Glade. I waited in the open doorway of the wash house for a few minutes, listening to the silence that drifted in. There were no birds here. Only the chickens and turkeys, and there sounds weren't as inviting. It's sad really, somewhere deep down I missed that sound.

Lost in thought, I never picked up the silvery voice that drifted in, not until it repeated my name several times. I arched my head to the left, then the right. A bewildered expression across my face. I took a step out of the doorway, choosing to go left towards one of the Doors. Was a Glader playing a trick on me?

"Clarke…" Again, that voice. Drifting into the Glade. It sounded all too familiar, as if I knew whom it belonged too. A voice to a face that I forgot. Too quickly. I traced my hand against the stone wall, my fingertips tingling against the brittle stone. Once I reached the end of the Glade, I stopped. Chuck told me that many of the Gladers didn't like it if some of the newbies got to close to the Doors. I peered round the corner, the darkness an envelope of surprises.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice echoing down the empty corridor. Nothing replied.

"What are you doin'?" Newt said from behind me. I jumped in shock, in the process scraping my arm across the corner.

"Nothing." I squeaked, pushing myself away from the opening. "Bored I guess."

Newt only shrugged his shoulders before he pushed a crumpled up shirt into my arms. I unrevealed it from itself and noticed that it was a similar to the one I was already wearing, this time with long sleeves. I nodded in satisfaction, screwed it back into its ball and stuffed in under my arm.

"Anythin' else?" he asked.

"Hairbrush, for the birds nest on top of my head." I motioned to my hair. "Wait, scissors, it'll be easier to have it short."

"No." Newt answered immediately. I blinked at him. "Erm … I mean … er … I like it long."

_Please, don't blush,_ I thought to myself as I felt my cheeks redden. I smiled. Why did my face have to give myself away?

"Okay, a hairbrush then please." I ducked my head and walked past him towards the wash house again. I hurried through the open doorway, and without waiting for Newt to fully arrive, I slammed the door shut. I shook my head, grabbed the nearest cleanest looking towel from the hook, picked up an almost empty bottle and headed towards the shower furthest from the doorway.

"Don't let anyone in!" I called to Newt before I started to strip down, placing the clothes into a neat pile away from me. I turned the water on, not caring if it was hot or cold, and jumped underneath it, relieved that I could wash away the filth that coated me head to toe.

I would have stayed for a lot longer than I wanted to, underneath the shower, but the fear of one of the boys bursting in overcame me. I shut the water off, and got myself dressed once again, this time with a fresh feeling.

I crossed the room and reopened the door to find Newt lent against the wall. His arms were crossed and his eyes fixed on the Gladers. He lifted his head once he saw mine poke out of the wash house, a goofy smile across his face.

"All done?" he asked.

"Not yet, I need a hairbrush." I pulled at the wet entrails of my hair. "And the towel, what happens to it?"

"Leave it inside of the door, one of the Sloppers will deal with it."

"You mean Chuck," I whispered under my breath.

"What?" Newt asked with a confused face. I shook my head and pushed my old shirt into his arms, along with the bandage from my arm.

"You can deal with these," I said as I turned away and joined the small queue that was forming at the entrance of the Kitchens. I grabbed my plate from one of the shelfs, and allowed Frypan to dump scrambled eggs and toast onto my plate. I found a cluster of curls sitting on a picnic table, and joined him.

"Good night's sleep?" I asked Chuck. He looked up at me, took a bite of his toast then went back to staring at his plate. "What's up with you?"

"It's Thomas," he replied sullenly. "He keeps going on about how he wants to be a runner. It's driving me insane."

"Ignore him then," I suggested. "If you encourage it, it will only make it worse."

He nodded, then looked up from his plate. Greenie placed his onto the table and quickly started to eat his food.

"Clarke, what do you think of me being a runner?" Greenie directed at me through bite fulls of his foods.

"I think you're one Greenie that is full of klunk," I answered, which Chuck responded with a laugh. "Dude, you gonna have to be spectacular to get that type of job."

"There are standards," Chuck added. "Only the fittest and strongest are selected, and that's through the Gatherin'."

"Everyone has to agree," I finished for him. We both high-fived. Greenie shrugged and carried on eating his breakfast.

"Right, Greenbeans," Newt said as he approached us, he placed a small hairbrush onto my lap. "Today you'll be with Winston, he's the Keeper of the Slicers. Will get more shockers into you both!"

"What's a Slicer do?" I questioned, the names of these jobs are sometimes a bit odd.

"They kill animals for meat," Newt replied bluntly. A quick glance at the Greenie meant that we both knew what we were doing that day. "They also care for the animals, so killin' ain't the only thing you'll be doin' today."

"Animals, but what if I'm not a killer."

"You'll sure find out."

* * *

We stood with Newt in front of the barn of the Blood House, ready for our training with the Slicers. Despite the rough day that we both had yesterday, Greenie looked eager to learn, excited even.

"Survived the night?" I whispered to him.

Greenie raised an eyebrow. I huffed. "I mean did you manage to sleep undisturbed, without anyone wakin' ya up to kill you."

"Why would anyone want to … were you going to kill me?"

"No," I retorted. I smiled and turned to face Newt. "Any more news on the boy?"

"Still in a coma, sleepin' his days away. Med-jacks are spoon-feeding him whenever Frypan cooks for us, checkin' vitals and such. He seems okay, just dead to the world."

"So what's first? Milk cows or slaughter some poor little pigs? Do we actually kill animals? Is that what is the meat?"

"Yes, Clarke! Stop with the questions. You'll know well and good by the time sun sets tonight. Let's go meet Winston."

Winston was an acne-covered kid, short but muscular, and it seemed to me that this Keeper liked his job way too much. Great, I'm spending a day with a psycho and an insane animal killer.

Winston showed us around for the first hour, pointing out which pens held which animals, where the chicken and turkey coops were, what went where in the barn. The dog, a pesky black Lab named ironically Bark, took a liking to Greeine, hanging at his feet the entire tour. I wondered where the dog came from, upon asking Winston, he replied, "It's always been 'ere."

The second hour was spent actually, you'd guessed it, working with the farm animals – feeding, cleaning, fixing a fence, scraping up klunk.

The third hour was the hardest for both of us, well more Greenie than me. We both watched as Winston slaughtered a hog and prepared its many parts for future eating. I think that really put off Greenie, his face a sickly colour of green as we walked away for lunch break. Me, however, wasn't to bothered by what had happened, it didn't seem to have the same effect.

Winston had said for us to go on to lunch without him, he wanted to hang round the Blood House, which seemed fine with Greenie as he dragged me away from it. As we walked towards the East Door, I picture Winston secretly grabbing at the spare bones and gnawing away at the meat that was left on it. Okay, that was a big overstatement and a little mean. You can't judge a book by its cover, for all I know, he was just playing with the dog.

Greenie and I passed the Box when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone entering the Glade from the Maze. An Asian kid stumbled through the West Door, his black hair glistening in the light. It must have been Minho. The Runner stopped three steps in, bent over and put his hands on his knees, gasping for a breath of air. He looked like he had just ran twenty miles, face red, skin covered in sweat, clothes soaked.

Then, the boy collapsed to the ground.


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

_You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. ~ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

* * *

I froze for the briefest of seconds. Should I have helped? The Runner lay there in a crumbled heap, his limbs barely moving. Both of us, Greenie and I, hesitated, undecided on the right actions to take.

Greenie was the first to snap out of his trance, he shouted in to the Glade, calling for someone to come over and help.

I sprinted over to the grounded boy and knelt down beside him. "Hey, hey – you need any help?" The Runner's head rested on his outstretched arms as he panted, his chest heaving heavily. Luckily, he was conscious, but I hadn't seen someone so exhausted before.

"I'm … fine," he said between breaths, then looked up." Am I in 'eaven?"

"Wh-what?" I stammered.

"Nothin', who the klunk are you?" He pointed towards Greenie.

"I'm new here. The names Thomas – been here a couple of days. That's Clarke, don't know if you know her."

Minho pushed himself up into a sitting position, his black hair matted to his skull with sweat. "Oh, yeah, you're the Newbie with the coma dude," he huffed. "I know her alright. No one seems to shut up about her. Drivin' me shuckin' mad."

"I've been hearing them as well," Greenie added. I slapped him across the knee before I stood up again. I edged backwards until my shoulders were in line with the Greenie's.

"What're you doin; back, Minho? What happened?" Alby called as he jogged over.

"Calm your ass, Alby," Minho replied, seeming to gain strength by the second. "Make yourself useful and get me some water. Dropped mine back out there somewhere."

But Alby didn't move. He seemed to kick Minho in the leg a little too hard to be playful. "What happened?"

"I can barely talk, shuck face!" Minho yelled, his voice raw. "Get me that shuckin' water!"

Alby looked over to us, me in particular. I saw the slightest hint of a smile flash across his face before it vanished underneath on of his famous scowls. "Minho's the only shank who can talk to me like that without gettin' his butt kicked off the Cliff." And, with that he turned and ran off, presumably to get Minho some water.

Greenie turned back to face Minho and once again fired away at his now annoying questions. I mentally blocked out their rebuking session and focused more on the Maze itself. This had been the closest I had been since my arrival over a week ago. I could clearly see now the ivy crawlers covering each side of the wall, criss-crossing from each side. Light did not penetrate the corridors very well, only flooding in from the sharp turns further down. At one point, all I could focus on was the way the walls seemed to gradually decrease in size near the end. It was as if they beckoned me to enter. That was when the whisper of a voice started again, tickling my ear buds. The same familiar ring from this morning, but louder and clearer. Singing from inside the Maze. Calling for me.

Who wanted me to enter?

"Do what you're told, keep your mouth shut. Like Clarke over 'ere."

I snapped out of my daydream, the walls readjusting back to their original size. I glanced down to see Minho's face squarely in the Greenie's. He scooted away, but suddenly stopped himself. Greenie pushed himself back up onto his knees so he looked down at the Runner.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what you did as a Newbie." Greenie said, crossing his arms.

Whatever they had been talking about, Greenie had to shut his mouth. Something terrible would happen if his motor-mouth carried on the way it did. Greenie nervously glanced at me, then back again to Minho. He looked at the Greenie carefully, his eyes narrowing. "I was one of the first Gladers, slinthead. Shut your hold till you know qhat you're talkin' about."

Greenie seemed put off by the Runner and moved to get up from the floor. Minho's hand snapped out and grabbed at his arm.

"Dude, did you see ya face. Sit down I'm just playin' with your head. It's too much fun – you'll see when the next Newbie…" He trailed off, a perplexed look wrinkling his eyebrows. "Guess there won't be another Newbie, huh?"

The Greenie relaxed, returning to a sitting position, and I joined them there. I thought of the boy in the coma and the note that he bought saying he was the last one ever. "Guess not," I replied.

Minho squinted at us, as if he was studying every inch. "Everybody says that you two know somethin'."

I sensed the Greenie grow defensive beside when he spoke his next words. "I saw him. Doesn't look familiar at all." His words came out to quickly for someone who didn't want to be seen as lying.

"Is it true, everythin' bein' said," Minho inquired.

"What?" I asked, for Greenie wasn't answering.

"He got up and attack you?"

"Yes." I involuntarily looked at my feet.

"So, he must know you then?"

"No!" I snapped a little too hastily. I felt immediately guilty for lying – even if it was just a little one.

"Right," Greenie said, breaking the tension in the air. "So … did you find anything of interest today?"

Minho's eyes opened wide; he focused on Greenie. "You know what, Greenie? That's usually the dumbest shuck-faced though you could ask a Runner." He closed his eyes again. "But not today."

"What do you mean?" I dared to ask, hoping for some answers that may have been useful.

"Just wait until Alby gets back. I don't like sayin' stuff twice. Plus, he might not want you two to hear it anyway."

I sighed with dissatisfaction, I wasn't that surprised at the answer that he gave me. It was better than nothing. "Well, at least tell us why you look so tired. You run out there every day, shouldn't you at least be, you know, not tired."

Minho groaned slightly as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, crossing his legs underneath him. "Yeah, Clarke, I run out there every day. Let's say I got too excited, and wanted to run just that bit more home."

"Why?" Greenie said, desperation clear in his voice.

Minho pointed his finger in our direction. "I told you both. Patience is the key. Wait for General Alby."

Something in his voice lessened the blow of the conversation. But, I had decided one thing out of this strange endeavour. I liked Miho, and it seemed Greenie did as well. "Okay, I'll shut up. Just make sure Alby lets me hear the news, too. I can't say much for her, though."

Minho studied him for a second, trying to determine what the right words were to say. "Fine, Greenie and Clarke."

Alby walked up a moment later with a big plastic cup full of water and handed it to Minho, who gulped down the whole thing without stopping once for breath.

"Okay," Alby said. "Out with it, then."

Minho raised his eyebrows and nodded towards Thomas and I.

"Their fine," Alby barked. "I don't care what these shanks hear. Just out with it!"

We both sat their inclined to hear the news as Minho struggled to stand up, wincing with every move, his whole body screaming _I'm so tired_. The Runner balanced himself against the wall of the Glade, and gave us a cold look. "I found a dead one."

"Huh?" Alby asked. "A dead, what?"

Minho smiled. "A dead Griever."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

_"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." ~ Dr. Seuss_

* * *

That word, _Griever_, was a fascination in itself. That nasty creature through the window, in the Maze. They were terrifying. Huge. Dangerous. Why would finding one dead make such a big deal. Was this a first time occurrence?

"Ain't a good time for jokes," Alby sternly said. Clearly, he didn't believe what the runner said. Disbelief written across his face, so much so that he looked like someone had told him he could sprout wings and fly out of here.

"Look," Miho answered. "I wouldn't believe it myself if I heard the same thing either. But you gotta trust me on this one. I saw a big fat nasty one out there and it was all dead."

_Definitely never happened before_, I thought. Everything unusual was starting to happen, and do you know who sort started it all off. Me. Clarke, the first girl in the Glade.

"You found a _dead_ Griever," Alby repeated.

"_Yes_, Alby," Minho said through his teeth, very annoyed. "A couple miles out, near the Cliff."

Alby glanced into the Maze, his eyes glassy with deciding what to do. He then looked back at Minho. "Well … why didn't you bring it back 'ere?"

Minho laughed, it sounding like half-grunt half-giggle type of laugh. "You been drinkin' Frypan's saucy-sauce? Those blasted things must weigh over half a ton. Plus, I wouldn't dare touch one of them things, even if I was given a free pass outta this place."

Alby wouldn't give up on him, the questions kept firing out from the leader's mouth. "What did it look like? Were the metal spikes in or out of its body? Di-did it move, at all – skin, was it moist?"

I was bursting with questions, and glancing over at the Greenie, I could see that he was too. I held my tongue, though, not wanting to remind that Alby and Minho weren't alone. And that they maybe shouldn't be talking about this in public.

"Slim it, man," Minho said. "You gotta see it for yourself. It's … weird."

"Weird?" Alby looked confused.

"I'm tried, starving, and probably sun-sick, give me a break. But, if you want to drag it back now, we may make it back into time before sun-down."

Alby looked down at his black watch. "Better wait until tomorrow."

"Smartest thing that you said all week." Minho righted himself from leaning against the stone wall, hit Alby on the arm, then started walking toward the Homestead with a slight limp. He spoke over his shoulder as he shuffled away. "I should go back out there, but screw it. I'm gonna eat some of Frypan's casserole, the nasty stuff."

Disappointment etched its way all over the Greenie's face, he was eager to learn more, digest all the valuable little secrets that came his way. Okay, I was exactly the same, but it was better to hide the curiosity, then to piss off less people. Anyway, Minho needed a rest and some of that nasty casserole he mentioned.

Alby turned to Greenie and I, slightly surprising him. "If you know something and ain't tellin' me…"

"Why do you hate me so much?" Greenie demanded as he looked at Alby square in the face.

The look given back was, well, indescribable – Alby was part confused, angry and shocked. "_Hate_ you? Why … you ain't learned nothin' since your sorry-ass turned up in that Box. This has nothin' to do with who hates whom and who loves whom. This about surviving. Drop your sissy side and start usin' that shuck brain of yours inside your head, if you've got one."

"You're not having a go at Clarke about any of this, she's the only girl. Accuse her!"

"Hey, you can't just go round blamin' people for everything that's happened, calm down," I rebuked. This Greenie was not going to start turning the tables on me.

Alby leaned back slightly, and stared absently at the fuming Greenie in front of him. "Slim it, Greenie. Grow up and start thinkin' a little. Ain't got nothin' to do with accusin' people of anythin', or blamin' as well. But, if you remember anythin', anythin' familiar, your mouth better start talking. Promise."

Greenie looked like he was ready to fight Alby. His fist clenched into a ball, and his knuckles gradually shifted into a whiter colour. "Yes, but–"

"Just promise!"

It seemed the world had slowed down, only slightly, to witness the events unfolding here. "Whatever," Thomas finally said. "I promise."

With that, Alby walked away in a foul mood.

* * *

"Rise and shine Sun Princess, you gonna go back to the Gardeners today," a very enthusiastic Newt said from the doorway of my room. I groaned in response.

"Five more minutes, please?" I begged from the comfort of my pillow.

"Nope, up and outta it!"

"What time is it?"

"Seven o'clock,"

"You've gotta be kiddin' me, it's to earlier for anythin'," I moaned from bed. My body, at that moment, laid in the right position where the bed just refused to let it get up. "The bed won't let me up, it said it would eat me if I even lifted a finger."

"Is it now? And why is lettin' you talk?"

"Cause my head is on the pillow, idiot."

"Hmm," Newt replied, then he fell silent. Too silent.

"Newt?" I said before I realised what was about to happen. There was not time to prepare myself, no time to grasp the sides of the mattress before I fell. Newt had tiptoed across the room, grabbed the sides of the mattress and flipped it, with me tumbling out onto the floor.

I bashed into his legs, the impact winding me slightly. "_Neewwttt_, let me sleep, I want _slleepppp!_" I pleaded with him. No matter what he did, I would refuse to get up. I grabbed the sleeping bag, which had fallen with me, and curled myself into it tightly. When I was comfortable, I stopped and closed my eyes once more, willing myself to fall back asleep.

"Well, we can't 'ave this then," Newt laughed. I felt a slight movement wriggle underneath me. It slithered all the way under my body and with that, I was hoisted up into the sky. I landed in Newt's arms, then thrown back out of them again, the sleeping bag flying through the air with me. I bounced upon the top of the fallen mattress. I grunted as I landed, the winded feeling returning.

"You … proved a … point," I wheezed, yanking the sleeping bag off me and pulling myself up from the mattress. I dragged my legs over the side and sat there a moment, trying to stop my spinning head and to regain some breath. Newt had really knocked the wind out of me when he threw my body onto the mattress. "Fine, fine. Why the Garderns again?"

"Ya barely finished with them the last time, seein' as you want all crazy the last time and everythin'. But, you need to try, and this time with some effort."

"Effort, _please_. I can do effort, it's just when I can be bothered I'll actually use it."

"Actually use it this time, you never know, Track-hoes are the one for you."

"Digging all day! I don' think so," I snapped in response. "Can't I do what you do all day, nothing?"

"_Nothing!_ You think I do nothin' all day?"

"Well, yeah. I don't see you do anything else," I responded, uneasily. Something about the new sneaky face put me on edge. I was no longer sure that the words I picked were the right option.

I laughed nervously as I rose from the floor and stretched my stiff body from the comfortable position it once laid in. I was absolutely shattered from the all-nighter I had just pulled. Probably wasn't the best decision I had ever made, especially when hard work was expected the next day.

To be honest, I very much got carried away over the night. I kept going through the notebooks in my bag, trying to at least jog my memory of some of the patterns. No such luck. The memory swipe was good, and very bloody annoying. The circles meant something, though. It was like a code of some sort, Morse code if you want specifics. A serious of lines and indentations meaning something. I concluded that each circle on the page must have represented a paragraph, and the smaller circles inside, with patterns dotted around, an individual letter. Each circle had its own meaning and I did notice that a few patterns repeated.

And that was my night, trying to figure out the point of these books. It wouldn't have surprised me if dark shadows had formed under my eyes. I felt rubbish, so I probably looked it as well.

I let a massive yawn escape, it vibrated throughout my body. I rubbed my eyes.

"Late night?" Newt asked kicking me off the mattress.

"You bet, all I could here was you snoring. You should get it checked out." I helped him pull the mattress back onto the bedframe. I bent down and threw the sleeping bag back on top.

"Keepin' this place neat," Newt said. "Anyway, I gotta wake up the Greenie. Will meet ya by the Kitchens."

I watched him leave the room, his hair swaying over his shoulders. A sigh escaped my lips, followed by a massive blush and a dive for my shoes. I was so glad he wasn't there to see that. I slipped my feet into the boots and laced them up. Before I ran out of the Homestead, I fixed my hair, brushing through my hair with the brush that I had been given to me.

Once outside, I headed straight for the Kitchens, picked my plate of bacon, eggs and beans from the busy Frypan and joined Chuck at the picnic table right outside. We both chomped away at our very chewy bacon, to be then soon joined by Greenie and Newt. As soon as they sat down, a large group of Gladers got up and ran towards the West Door, each talking excitedly about something.

"What's … going … on there?" I remarked, in between bites.

Newt shrugged as he tucked into his eggs. "Just seein' off Minho and Alby – they're going to look at that dead Griever."

"Hey," Chuck said as small piece of bacon flew out from his mouth. I cringed slightly. "I've got a question about that."

"Yeah, Chuckie," Newt asked, somewhat sarcastically. "And what's your bloody question?"

"Don't be rude," I whispered just loud enough that only Newt could hear me. He looked up from his battle with the eggs and gave me a look with a small smile.

Chuck, however, was deep in thought, oblivious to the sarcastic tone that Newt had taken. "Well, they found a dead Griever, right?"

"Yeah," Newt replied. "Thanks for that bit of news.

Chuck absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds. "Well, then who _killed_the stupid thing?"

_Excellent question_, I thought. I waited for Newt to answer, but nothing came. He obviously didn't have a clue.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

_Pain Is Inevitable; Suffering Is Optional ~ Haruki Murakami_

* * *

I spent the morning, once again, with the Keeper if the Gardens, putting _some_ effort. Zart didn't have much to say when I turned up, with the Greenie by my side. Instead, he showed us the ropes of how the Gardens works and what we were going to do. Weeding, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and courgette seeds, and picking vegetables. There was no love in the job and I mostly stack to myself again, trying as best as I could not to look good at anything I did.

The Greenie and I were tasked to weed a long row of corn, removing the plants that were not wanted there. I didn't seem keen at first, but after a while, I had gone beyond the point of caring. That was until the Greenie started to talk.

"So, Zart," Greenie started.

The Keeper glanced up at him, then resumed his work. "Yeah, Greenie, what do you want?"

"How many Keepers are there?" Greenie asked, trying to act casual. "And what are the job options?"

"Well, you got the Builders, Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Map-markers, Med-jacks, Track-hoes, Blood Houses. Runners, of course. I don't know, a few more, maybe. Pretty much keep to myself and my own stuff."

I had done some of these jobs, obviously, but I wondered about the few that I would have to go through.

"What's a Slopper?" he asked.

"That's what the shanks do that can't do nothin' else. Clean toilets, the showers, kitchens, the Blood House after slaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers – that'll cure any thoughts of goin' that directions, I can tell ya that."

I felt a pang of guilt towards Chuck; he tried so hard to be everyone's friend, but no one seemed interested in what he was doing, let alone pay attention to him. Yes, he was a tiny bit annoying, yet at times, I was glad to have him round.

"What about the Track-hoes?" Greenie asked as he yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt flying on to my shoes.

Zart cleared his throat and kept on working as he answered. "They're the ones take care of all the heavy stuff for the Gardens. Trenching and whatnot. During off times they do other stuff round the Glade. Actually, a lot of Gladers have more than one job. Anyone mention that?"

Both of us ignored the question as we carried on working with the weeds. The Greenie had too much he wanted answers for, and he certainly was taking advantage of this golden opportunity that arose for him. "What about the Baggers? I know they take care of dead people, but it can't happen that often, can it?"

"Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and the poh-lice, too. Everyone just likes to call 'em Baggers. Have fun that day." He snickered for the first time, making him sound weird. After a while, everything fell silent, we carried on with our work with the ground. By the time mid-afternoon arrived, I was ready to collapse from complete exhaustion – all that bending over and crawling around on your knees in the dirt was awful. I was not going into the Gardens.

Very tired and sore, I headed towards the Kitchen for a snack and some water. I could have devoured anything on sight. Anything was sounding good at the moment. A pig, maybe?

I picked up an apple and followed Greenie to where Chuck was sitting. I was about to plop down on the ground with them when I noticed Newt sitting by himself, ignoring everyone. His eyes were bloodshot, his forehead creased with heavy lines. I watched as he chewed his fingernails. This wasn't the Newt I had witnessed earlier.

An idea popped into my head, do I sit down here with Chuck and Greenie? Or, brave up a bit and go see if Newt was okay? An old shadow of myself flickered in, warning of my one rule, don't stand out. But, with the memory wipe, new me, new rules. I sucked in a breath, took a bite of my bright red apple and walked over to the lone boy.

"What's up?" I asked, waiting for him to bite of my head. "You seem ... discontent."

He only sighed, then gaze up at me, his dark brown eyes locking with mine. I knew that he wasn't going to reply, so I shuffled over and squeezed myself next to him hoping that a warm presence may settle him somehow. I took another bite of my apple, offering the rest to Newt beside me. He shook his head and continued to stay silent still looking at me. "I can hear every bloody word you guys are saying," Newt called to Greenie and Chuck in a loud voice. "No wonder people hate sleepin' next to you."

It took a while for them both to register what was going on, they seemed to both look as if they had stolen something and now had to face the punishment.

"What is wrong with you?" Chuck asked. "No offense, but you look like klunk."

"Every lovin' thing in the universe," he replied, then he fell silent again as he stared off into the distance for a long moment. A placed my hand gently on his rested arm giving some reassurance that there not everything was so bad. His eyes caught mine, and I smiled in response. One of them smiles that tells you, 'hey I'm here, you can lean on my shoulder if you want'. The smile seemed to work, only for a brief moment though, as Newt continued with his ever growing dilemma. "The boy from the Box. Keeps groanin' and saying all kinds of weird stuff, but won't wake up. Medjacks're doing their best to feed him, but he's eatin' less and less each time. I'm tellin' ya, something's bad about the whole bloody thing."

Newt was stressed, trying not to lose his cool in front of everyone. Order was what he wanted in the Glade, and as of then, it still was there. For how long was the question across all our minds.

I once again offered my half eaten apple to him, hoping that he at least would take a small bite out of it. Not paying attention to my offering, I delicately took Newt's scrunched-up right hand and opened his fingers. As they relaxed, I gently placed the apple in his hand, making sure that the eaten side wasn't placed on his palm. Guiding his fingers around the apple, I pushed it towards his mouth determined to make him eat a little. He seemed to have understood my concern as his lips parted to take a bite out of the apple. His gaze never lost mine. His bloodshot eyes soften when they looked at mine, his troubles seeping out slowly at a time, his worry melting away. Newt's harsh face quieten to a boy that really didn't know what to do if something happened, his stone features etched away to reveal someone who wasn't as old as he seemed. A person who's eyes didn't match their body, where the dark brown eyes had matured instead of him.

"Shuck it. But that's not what really has buggin'," Newt added with a long sigh.

"Then, what is it?" I questioned intent on finding out why he was like this.

Newt's eyes narrowed as he looked out toward one of the entrances to the Maze. "Alby and Minho," he muttered. "They should've been back hours ago."

* * *

Before I knew it, I was back at work pulling up weeds again from the ground. I eyed Greenie a few times as he seemed to steal a few glances at the West Door. Newt's concern had suddenly rubbed off on him; it had rubbed off on all of us.

Newt had said they were supposed to have come back by noon, just enough time for them to get to the dead Griever, possibly explore for an hour or two, and then return. No wonder he was stressed out. It didn't help when Chuck offered that they maybe they were just exploring and having some fun, Newt had given him such a harsh stare that even I wouldn't have been able to stop Chuck from spontaneously combusting.

It kept getting worse after that. I would never forget the look that Newt gave Greenie when he asked why a search party hadn't been sent out to find their friends. Newt's expression had changed to outright horror – his cheeks had shrunk into his face, becoming sallow and dark. Luckily, it passed, and he'd explained to them that sending out a search party was forbidden, people would have gotten lost, but mark my words that fear had passed across his face.

Newt was terrified of the Maze.

Whatever had happened out there – possibly the little secret he was going to tell me about – had truly been awful.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

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_Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty. ~ Stephan King_

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That night dinner was a solemn affair that had nothing to do with the food. Frypan had served the hungry Gladers a grand meal of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and these rolls that were apparently called 'hot rolls'. Usually, seconds were demanded from most as the food was gobbled up so fast. Tonight, the Gladers ate like they had everything to lose.

The Runners had returned at their normal time, jogging in to the Glade unaware of what was happening. Watching Newt run from Door to Door as they entered made me worry even more, especially that he made no attempt to hide his panic.

Alby and Minho never showed up. No one said it, but the doors would close soon if they were here or not. Newt forced the Runners to go eat some of Frypan's dinner, but he insisted on standing watch for the missing duo.

A good friend would have gone over and helped, a better would have not even have to have thought about it. I did consider getting up to take some food over, but I was interrupted when a song-like voice drifted across the Maze calling my name. I blinked twice and glanced around to see if anyone had heard the voice. No one looked puzzled, and certainly no one stared at me. _Must have been my imagination_, I thought as I returned to picking at my food. I wasn't hungry, I just felt sick to the stomach. It was like my body knew something was going to happen, and it churned because of it.

"Clarke … East Door," the song-like voice whispered again. This time I knew it wasn't my imagination or even a Glader playing a prank on me, the voice was to silvery and high-pitched to belong to one of them; it was a females, and she was calling me and only me. All thought of joining Newt by the door faded away with the sudden urge to track down the voice's source. I dropped my fork onto the plate with a clank and stood up from the table. Four eyes looked at me as I mumbled an excuse to leave. As I fled the scene, no one followed, which was what I wanted.

Walking as briskly as I could to not draw attention to myself, I made it to the East Door. Possibilities and theories popped in and out of my head, each one just as dramatic as the other. Was there some sort of trick there? Am I going to disappear? Oh gods, was I going to die? Okay, I may not actually die, that was taking it a wee bit too far, but still.

The East Door loomed over me, its wide-open entrance darkened by the setting sun. It was a long corridor that seemed to have no ending, ivy crawlers smothering some parts of the wall to the point that light was cast out.

"Down the Maze," the voice spoke again, this time louder and clearer. I realised in that second that whoever wanted me to come was talking to me in my head. That was probably why no one else could hear it. I glanced over my shoulder to see if I had been spotted. Fine at the moment, but I would have to be quick. The East Door were the only ones that was blocked from view when I stood by the Homestead. Luckily for me, most of the Gladers were exactly there, eating their dinner.

"I'm so dead," I whispered to myself as I slipped into the dark corridor, knowing full well that I would be Banished for breaking the Number One Rule.

I walked slowly down the corridor, checking every few seconds behind me to make sure that no one had seen what I had done, or that the Doors would suddenly close on me. The voice hadn't spoken in all the time I had spent in this dangerous place – which wasn't that long. I stopped after a few more paces and waited for further instructions. _This is stupid_, I thought.

"I'm here," I half-whispered, half-spoke to the empty Maze, hoping that an echo would alert them to my presence. It probably wasn't the best idea, but I wanted to know why I was being dragged here with the danger of being trapped.

_"_Over here. Keep walking until you see a small screen." I followed the woman's instructions until I came across a patch of ivy that seemed to light up. I brushed away the plants to reveal a small screen embedded within the stone wall of the Maze. A young woman dominated the screen, her long dark red hair illuminating the space around her, with a sad face printed on. She seemed familiar, the way she pursed her lips in a scowl. "Hello, Clarke."

"Hello?" I said, biting my lip nervously.

"Bet you don't remember me?"

"Yes, I do. You were the woman in that crazy flash thing with the other people. Your name was…" I tapped the end of my chin trying to figure out what her name was. "Amy?"

"Great, at least you remember. I haven't got long, so listen up kid. No interruptions." Amy raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer to come from me. I nodded in reply, too afraid to even speak.

"Very well. You remember what we told you the last time that we spoke." She paused, her lips pursed and eyebrow raised. I slowly nodded to the answer, remembering the plan that they told me to do. Get out of the Maze, find the TARDIS and save them. "Well, plans changed. I won't tell you the whole story, but we did try and get to you. We got as far as the doors of the TARDIS when they refused to open. Doctor thinks that they wouldn't budge because we were stuck in some fixed point. He's not entirely sure. Anyway, we're back to square one, some stuff happened along the way and the ending result is that the Doctor and us are now working for WICKED, helping them cure the Flare."

Amy paused again, her eyes focusing on something that was beyond the screen. They widened as information was fed to her that was not told to me. Nodding furiously to whoever was speaking to her, she carried on. "Shouldn't have told you that. Moving swiftly on, the point is, you are a virus. That is the best way I can put it. You shouldn't be in the Maze, and you definitely shouldn't be there. They want you out, dead or alive, preferably dead. But, we managed to argue your case and convinced them that you would be better placed somewhere else. Group C. That's where you are headed. Kids are still being added there, so they allowed it.

"There is only one catch to this, though." She glanced down, not being able to look me in the eye properly.

"Yes, what is it? What's the catch?" I begged, jumping towards screen.

"Survive the night in the Maze." Amy swallowed hard, her eyes wetting. She didn't seem like a person that cried very often, but here she was crying for me. The most unimportant person in existence.

"What!" I squealed taking a step back from the screen. "I don't want to go to Group C. I want to stay here with my friends."

"You can't." She snapped harshly, wiping away the tears that trickled down her face. "The problems you created for them are massive; this is the only option if you don't want to die."

"Please," I pleaded. I got further away from the screen and faced the green of the Glade. I ran my fingers through my hair, taking sharp breaths as my lungs struggled to breathe. _This is not happening, this is not happening_ I thought. "I don't want to die."

"I'm sorry, Clarke. We tried to help, they wouldn't reconsider. Please, don't make this as difficult as it already is. You have the sonic screwdriver, yes?" I looked at her with absent eyes and pulled the device out of my pocket, where it had been since I discovered it. "Good, at least you have that. It will help."

"How do I use…" I trailed off as I realised what was happening. She didn't care about me, not in the slightest. Amy was stalling for time, making sure that she distracted me for long enough till the doors shut for the night.

"I thought that you were my friend," I hissed, spinning on my heel and I raced towards the Door before it could close. A loud boom sounded from all directions. Then came the crunching, grinding sound of stone against stone. The Doors were closing for the night.

I was only inches from entering the entranceway when something cold and hard wrapped around my left leg. It yanked me to the ground roughly, my head smacking against the cold concrete. Pain exploded up my legs as it tightened its grip. I tried to scramble forward, but it didn't work, it only pulled me back with tension. I was chained to a wall of the Maze with no way of escaping. Only one thing came to mind as the Doors were slowly shutting me out. I screamed, long, high and loud. To try and get the attention of somebody, anybody.

A small group of Gladers had formed at the opposite side of the Glade by the West Door, their backs turned away from me. A few heads curved in my direction as they tried to discover the source of the noise. The crowd parted as a lean figure with golden hair walked through. I couldn't see their faces clearly enough, but I knew instantly that it was Newt who was running towards the Door as fast as he could.

It was as if the ivy knew what was going on, because the closer he ran towards me, the further away I was dragged. To make matters worse, the Doors seemed to close faster and faster.

I grabbed on to a piece of ivy that was loose on the ground and held tight hoping that it would stop pulling me. It only pulled harder, threatening to yank my legs out of its socket if I didn't let go right that second. A strained grinding sound could be faintly heard as its mechanical gears whirred against the stress. The right wall was closing fast, seeming to quicken its pace the more I wanted it to slow down. There were only seconds left until it shut completely. I had no chance of making it.

Newt, and a few Gladers, were only meters away from the door, but time was cruel, and time cheated. Time was up. I wasn't going to make it back. No motherfucking way I was going to get back.

At the final moment, it loosened, letting its tight grip fall away from my leg. Seizing the moment, I kicked whatever it was away from me and scrambled up from the floor. Eyeing behind, I saw that it was a chain that had hooked around my leg, its cold stature taunting me; no longer in use, it lurched away, retreating back to where it came from.

The chain had dragged me to the edge of the corridor and my chance of getting back safely was narrowing with the Doors. I ran as fast as I could to the doorway, adrenaline pumping my legs and arms, powering them to go faster. I wasn't going to make it. I was at least fifty yards away, the gap closing to a tiny slit.

Two feet One feet. The rods on the right wall reached out with arms, grasping for the holes that it called home. The crunching sound of the Doors filled the air, deafening.

"Clarke," Newt called through the closing gap. "Don't do it. You'll be squashed alive."

"I can't stay out here. I don't want to die." I screeched back. Why would he want me to stay? Does he want me to die?

"Please, don't die. Just keep running," Newt yelled over the noise of the Door closing.

No one was going to help me now, I was stuck here alone to survive into Group C. I wanted to squeeze through the walls, try and make it to safety, but Newt must have seen the terror in my eyes as I tried to find a way out. "Clarke, please, come back."

The walls slammed shut in front of me, as his final words echoed through my bones, mixed with the echo of the Walls booming-bouncing off the ivy-covered stone like mad laughter.


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**Hey there my fellow Gladers, it's been two months since I have officially updated! I know, I know, it's bad, but exams... Anyway, officially finished with that part I can now focus on finishing this fanfic, which I'm super-duper excited to do. In two days it will be July, and I know I promised to have Chapter 30 done, but I haven't. Instead, I've been going over the beginning part and rewriting the story so that it sounded better. So far, I have done up to Chapter 4 and almost finished Chapter 5. Luckily for you, I have also been doing the same for the ones I haven't posted, so they will not be edited when they are posted. At the moment, I have started Chapter 28 and was thinking about doing at least another 12, making it 40 chapters in total (excluding the Epilogue, which I have already written). Updating will happen, but it will be a slow process. Hope to see you soon. queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

_It's okay to be crazy and scared and brave at the same time! ~ Kelly Epperson_

* * *

For several seconds, I felt like the world had frozen in place. A thick silence followed the thunderous rumble of the Door closing, bringing a vile darkness that covered the sky. It was if the sun had cowered away from whatever lurked through these corridors. Twilight had fallen fast and the mammoth walls were an enormous tombstone in a weed-infested cemetery for giants. I leaned back against the rough rock of the Doors, overcome with disbelief about what had happened to me.

There was no I could stay here, not if the so told Grievers were coming. Newt had explained to Thomas and me that they prowled the Maze at night, chomping up any unfortunate soul that happened to get stuck out here. The fear of the mouth ripping away at my skin and the tail piercing me got my legs moving. I pushed myself away from the rock and ran to where the little screen had been.

It was dark, not a good sign. Stopping at where I stood only a few minutes ago, I saw that the small screen had shrunken back into the wall, leaving a patch of bare wall. Six letters were printed in bold words in this patch, and it was six words that I was starting to hate – WICKED.

I smacked the wall with my bare hands, the collision sending my neuro senses berserk. I grunted from the pain, shaking my hand wildly to try and stop it. How could she do this to me, I thought that we were friends? Friends don't try and get you killed.

I let a scream of frustration escape my lips, tearing the ivy away from the walls, kicking anything that stood in path. Probably wasn't the best idea, but it felt good to get this out of my system. "How could this be happening?" I sobbed to the walls, turning in a circle to find an answer. I felt close to losing it for once, the pressure of surviving in a Maze that was deemed impossible. Only being here a few minutes and I already consider climbing up a wall and giving up. _No, don't think like that_, I scolded myself, my hand smacking my other arm. I had to survive the night if I wanted to live, and that was what I was going to do.

I sat down on the rough wall, facing the small gap where the screen had once been, the bold letters taunting me. My head found their way into my hands and I willed my mind to come up with a plan that would allow me to get out of this Maze.

I was only like this for a minute when I heard the noise. I popped my heap up, glancing down one of those dark corridors. My normal breathing rate rapidly quickened as the fear of the Maze snaked in.

It came from deep within the Maze, a low, haunting sound. A constant whirring that had a metallic ring every few seconds, like sharp knives rubbing against each other. It grew louder by the second, and then a series of eerie clicks joined in. A hollow moan filled the air, and then something that sounded like the clanking of chains.

All of it, together, was horrifying, and I started to crumble in on myself. I couldn't do this, I couldn't survive the night. I was petrified.

Not wanting to find out what the noise belonged to, I jumped up from the floor and ran down the opposite corridor away from it. I had no idea where I was going, no way of knowing what I would discover at each turn. My only instinct was to outrun the noise. The roar of engines interspersed with rolling, cranking sounds like chains hoisting machinery in an old, grimy factory. And then came the smell – something burning, oily. I didn't want to find what would happen if it caught up with me. When I mentioned earlier how I wanted to study it, forget that, I was not getting near one of those things.

I must have ran the furthest that I had ever in my life, twisting and turning at every given turn. I lost track of my way a while back, the amount of lefts and rights had dissolved into one big blob. There was no longer a route that I was taking, because I knew no routes.

I must have spent an hour running around the Maze, turning corners led to more corners to turn. But, the haunting moan followed me everywhere. Always sounding like it was close, yet it was never that close to be near.

Eventually, my luck ran out and I made the biggest mistake within these walls. It's all good taking the turns in random order, but maybe if I paid more attention it wouldn't have happened. A definite maybe.

I ended up in a dead end, the worst place to be when there are creatures hunting you. I backed up down the end of the corridor when the frightening sound of a Griever grew closer, echoing off the stone walls of the Maze. This Griever sounded loud and close, meaning that there was nowhere to go. I would have to somehow get passed this thing without it even knowing. I had to create a plan there and then to save myself.

A plan formed in my head. It all depended on the unknown abilities of the Grievers, but it was the best I could come up with under the circumstances.

I walked a few feet along the wall until I found a thick growth of ivy covering most of the stone. I reached down and grabbed one of the vines that went all the way to the ground and wrapped my hand around it. It felt thicker and more solid than I would've imagined, maybe half an inch in diameter. I pulled on it, and with the sound of thick paper ripping apart, the vine came unattached from the wall. When I had moved back at least ten feet, I saw that I could no longer see the vine way above; it disappeared in the darkness. But the plant had yet to fall, so it must have been attached somewhere.

Hesitant to try, I braised myself and pulled on the vine of ivy with all my strength.

It held.

I yanked on it again. Pulling and relaxing with both hands. I lifted my feet and hung onto the vine; it swung my body forward.

The vine held.

A sharp crack echoed from within the Maze, followed by the horrible sound of crumbling metal. I swung to around to look, my mind so concentrated on the vines that I had shut out the Griever; I searched the corner which I turned. I couldn't see anything coming, but the sounds were louder – the whirring, the groaning, the clanging. And the air had brightened ever so slightly; I could make out more of the details of the Maze then I'd been able to before.

I remembered the odd lights I'd observed through the Glade window with Newt. Newt. Oh, Newt. I bet he's worried sick about me, about everything. No, but I can't be distracted. The Grievers were close. They had to be.

I pushed away the swelling panic and set to work.

I wrapped the vine around my hand, placing myself at the edge of the wall. I etched one foot into the ivy, and grabbed the vine I had ripped off the wall. This wasn't going to be so hard, like rock climbing. Clangs from the Maze. Whirrs. Buzzes. Moans. I saw a couple of red flashes to my left. The Griever were getting closer.

I got back to work.

I slowly made my way up the stone wall, two or three feet at a time. I climbed until I was at least five feet above the ground, wrapped the vine around my chest for support. I continued to climb. One leg there. Slide your hand up. Untie, tie. Watch your footing. I was in the zone, like I had done something like this billions of times. The Griever at least seemed to be moving slowly through the Maze, which gave me time to hide.

I began to feel exhaustion taking over me as I heaved my body up the side of the wall. Recommendation, don't enter a maze with blood-thirsty monsters inside if you haven't had at least thirteen hours sleep and a good meal; it's not the best idea. Sweat covered every inch of my body, my hands began to slip and slide on the vines. My feet ached from pressing into the stone cracks. Still, I had to climb.

When I reached about forty feet off the ground, I stopped, swaying on the vine I had tied around my chest. Using my drained, rubbery arms, I turned myself around to face the Maze. An exhaustion I'd not known possible filled every particle of my body. I ached with tiredness; my muscles screamed. I was ready to pass out with exhaustion.

This was where I would hide. Or make my stand-off.

I little bit inside me knew that I wouldn't have been able to make the top – I had only hoped that the Grievers wouldn't or couldn't look above them. Or, I could fight them off somehow, one by one, without being overwhelmed on the ground. I could use the sonic screwdriver, well Amy said to use that, but in what why I did not know.

A few minutes passed before I saw the first glimmer of light shine off the walls. The terrible sounds I had heard escalate for the last few minutes took on a high-pitched, mechanical squeal, like a robotic death yell. I pulled the screwdriver from my trouser pocket and readied it for battle. I'd no idea what would happen, but if it was able to kill a beetle blade, then a Griever it could kill as well.

A red light to my left, on the wall, caught my attention. I turned and almost screamed out loud – a beetle blade was only a few inches from me, its spindly legs poking through the ivy and somehow sticking to the stone wall. I squinted at the thing's body, its eyes to bright to focus on.

I wasn't able to get a good look at the last beetle blade. By the time I had gone down to retrieve it from the floor, it had disappeared. At the time, I thought that it had rolled away, now I wasn't too sure. The torso was a silver cylinder, maybe three inches in diameter and ten inches long. Twelve jointed legs ran along the length of the bottom. The head was impossible to see, but it seemed small, vision its only purpose, perhaps.

This thing had to be a spy for WICKED, the people who had sent us here. The people that the Doctor, Amy and Rory now work for. I stilled myself, holding my breath and clenching the screwdriver. After my last encounter, I didn't need any trouble right now. I hoped the thing only detected movement as long seconds passed, my lungs screamed for air.

With a click and then a clack, the beetle turned and scuttled off, disappearing into the ivy. I sucked in a huge gulp of air, and then another, feeling the pinch of the vines tied around my chest.

Another mechanical squeal screeched through the Maze, close now, followed by the surge of revved machinery. I tried to play dead, making my body a hanging lifeless limp in the vines.

And then something rounded the corner, and came towards my hiding place.

Something I had seen before, but through the safety of thick glass.

Something unspeakable.

A Griever.


	21. Chapter Nineteen

**Another chapter for you to read. Hope you enjoy it! At this current moment, I have finished Chapter 29 and very excited to be on Chapter 30! **

**Also a quick reminder, I am still rewriting most of my fic (slowly doing it though), and just wanted to let you know that the best way to tell when I have updated an older chapter is if I have written out the number in words, not as a number. So far, Chapter 5 is where I'm up too, but I have a system where I rewrite an older chapter, edit the next part to be published then write a new chapter. Eventually it will all be cut down when I catch up. **

**I thank you for your patience and living with a terrible updateor (doubt that is even a word).**

**Comment if you are enjoying this fic or not, I can take the criticism.**

**See ya next time queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

_Heroes need monsters to establish their heroic credentials. You need something scary to overcome. ~ Margaret Atwood_

* * *

I gaped in horror at the monstrous creature that made its way down the corridor of the Maze.

It looked like an experiment that had gone horribly wrong. Part animal, part machine, the thing clicked and rolled along the stone pathway. Its body resembled something out of a modern day Doctor Frankenstein's laboratory. Its form was covered in hair that glistened with slime, grotesquely oozing in and out of its body each time it breathed.

There was nothing distinguishable about it, but it did remind me of one thing. The small white little scars that littered my body was the only thing that I knew that there were others, bigger and stronger than this. The creature I was looking at was the first creation, the test run. The one I encountered, a 2.0 version; a larger cousin of some sort, with teeth ready to slice through bones clean, had been far worse. To my creepy joy, this one was smaller, at least six feet long and four feet thick. Tiny.

Every ten to fifteen seconds, sharp metal spikes popped through the flesh and the creature curled into a ball and spun forward. Then it would settle, seeming to gather its bearings, the spikes receding back through the moist skin with a sick sucking sound. It did this over and over, traveling just a few feet at a time.

It was a monster straight from hell, created in the pits of fire and thrown up to terrorise the world with its random mechanical arms that stuck out in places, readied for each purpose that it had. Bright lights were attached to some of its arms, creating an eerie light show on the walls; the shadows of the ivy dancing around whenever it flickered past. Others had long needles that looked sharper than they actually were. One arm had a menacing three-fingered claw attached to it, where it clasped and unclasped at the air. It didn't seem to have a function, like the others, but I was sure that I was soon to find out. When the Griever did roll, all the arms folded in on themselves and they allowed for it to manoeuvre without being crushed in the process under all the weight. Delicate, but deadly.

The sounds that I heard echo throughout the Maze made a whole lot of sense by looking at this creature. It made a metallic, whirring sort of noise which in turn sounded just like when a blade of a saw spins. The creepy clicking sounds that came from the spikes and arms when metal grounded with stone. But, worse of all, the sound of the creature's haunted, deathly moans – that escaped from its body when it sat still – sent chills up and down my spine.

Seeing this – the Griever and what I was up against – made this task all to near impossible to complete. The nightmare that was crawling along the floor, way down below me, was sure going to do something that I would not like.

I fought everything in my body to stay perfectly still in my vine trap, wishing that it was as dumb as a goldfish.

_Sometimes, things stay to check out a new territory,_ I thought. _It might just go away eventually. _But deep down, I knew that whatever I thought to reassure myself, I would be wrong in all aspects. These creatures plagued the Gladers nightmares. This was what they were scared off. And I would have to face one sooner or later.

These weren't your normal type of creatures. No. They were bred for hunting in the night. Removal of the weak. And it reminded me of the creatures that use the darkness as their cloak. The ones that hunted when no one else saw. They looked harmless, but by god, they were lethal.

There was no escape from this creature that roamed the floor below me. It blocked the only escape from the dead end I was stuck in. Unless a wall decided to magically move, I need the Griever to finish what it was doing and turn around. It rolled and clicked its way closer, moving back and forth, moaning and whirring each time.

Whenever it stopped, the delicate arms retracted from the body and twisted in various ways as if to sense something that was out there. A bit like what a flower does when it searches for a source of light. Ghostly shadows danced across the wall of the Maze, creating odd shapes each time the light moved. A brief memory escaped, and I pictured myself in a library full of books, petrified of the shadows. This, in the now, seemed much better than what that was about. Shadows, man-eating shadows. I'd pick Grievers over that. At least I had a chance of knowing where my pursuer would be. Weirdly, that gave some kind of reassurance that I was in a better position now then what I had been in. Thank god that memory wasn't a nightmare.

A strong whiff of something burnt stung my nostrils; a sick mixture of overheated engines and charred flesh. I tried not to choke on the fumes that whiffed my way. One mistake and that Griever would pounce on me. Silence was my friend for the moment, no matter what. To help with trying to keep quiet, I closed my eyes and concentrated on allowing my body to drift aimlessly with the vines as if it was a dead body. The creature kept coming.

_whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

_click-click-click_

_whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

_click-click-click_

I glanced down trying not to move my head – the Griever had reached the section of the wall where I hung forty metres above it. It paused, as if it was thinking. The creature let out a hideous moan and carried onto the end of the corridor. It paused by the wall that led to nowhere. It then turned around and slowly made its way back again in the painfully slow motion that probably was programmed into its mind. After a few breathless moments, it stopped again. A few yards from where I was.

As quietly as I could, I sucked in as much air as I could and held it. _Go away, _I mentally shouted at the creature. _Keep going. Don't stop. Go find some friends to play with. Please!_

The menacing spikes burst out of the Griever's back as its body rolled toward me.

_whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

_click-click-click_

I watched painfully as the Griever rolled right under me and stopped. It paused again. I wished that it was unsure and may just turn around. Then it rolled once again, up the side of the wall.

My lungs burned for air, just a whisper of it to keep me going, to stop the blackness. I couldn't do it; the slightest sound would give away my position. The dreaded thing sat below me, mocking me. I wanted to look down, to see how long I had. I wanted to do this so badly. But, I knew that if my body shifted, only faintly, then I would give myself away. The beams of the light shone across the corridor, bouncing of the walls, completely random, never setting on one thing at a time.

Then, the lights went out, with no warning.

The world around me turned dark and still. I could hear nothing. I could see nothing. It was as if the creature turned itself _off_. Nothing moved, it made no sound. Everything had stopped. I started to panic. The light meant that I could see where it was, without it, I had nothing. I was completely blind. I couldn't survive like this.

I took small breaths of air through my nose to try and satiate the burning sensation deep within my lungs. My body needed oxygen if I was going to stay awake. I couldn't do much if I was passed out. Sweat drenched my hair, hands and clothes as I waited anxiously for the next move. A fear I had never known filled me to the point of near insanity.

Still, nothing. No movement, no light, no sound. The anticipation of trying to guess its next move was killing me.

Seconds passed. Minutes. The ropy plant dug into my flesh—my chest numb. I wanted to scream at the monster below: _Kill me or go back to your hiding hole!_

Then, in a sudden burst of light and sound, the Griever came back to life, whirring and clicking.

And then it started to climb the wall.

Its spikes tore through into the stone, throwing shredded ivy and rock chips in every direction. The Griever shifted around on the wall like the legs of a beetle blade, some sharp pricks that drove into the stone for support. A bright light at the end of one of its arms pointed directly at me, not randomly, because the beam didn't move away.

I felt the last drop of hope flood out from my body. I was screwed.

The only option left was to run. I unravelled the thick vine from my chest and used my left hand to hold tight to the shrubbery above me. I finished unwrapping myself and prepared to enact the worst thought out plan in history.


	22. Chapter Twenty

**Hello Gladers, I'm back. Did you miss me? I hope so! :)**

**Enough with the cheesy greetings, and more on the fact that, YES, we are now in the new numbers. CHAPTER TWENTY! Where on earth did the time fly? (It's been almost a year, will forget that). **

**I hope you are enjoying the fic so far, I know I'm having fun writing it. And, some other great news, I'm nearing the end. Hopefully another five or ten more chapters and I'm done! Which is good news for everyone.**

**One finally thing to mention, I've updated to chapter six with a few changes made. A few big ones, a few small. However, old readers, it doesn't affect what you are currently reading. I'll just list them here instead: Clarke doesn't hurt her ankle in the beginning, she punches Zart instead of being pushed by Gally and she runs a lot more.**

**Comments are greatly recommended (wanted, needed!), good and bad.**

**Oh, and one more thing, I PASSED MY EXAMS! All the hard work paid off (writting this story!)**

**See ya next time!**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

_History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again. ~ Maya Angelou_

* * *

The bottom was a dead-man's zone. I wouldn't risk going down there, not with the chance of being ripped to shreds like the poor ivy. There was only one option left, play the creature at its own game – beating it from above. Gazing around at my possible options, I determined the best route was through the air, which would gain maximal distance between us. Every second I wasted thinking up this plan was a second more that the Griever gained against me. I needed to act, now!

I extended my arm outwards grabbing hold of a vine that was at least two feet to the left of where I hung. I wrapped it round my hand and gave it a sharp tug. The vine didn't release from the top, just like the one I was hanging on. I peeked down to see the progress of the Griever, who had already halved the distance between us. It was moving fast, with no stops or pauses to hinder it.

Allowing the vine to unravel from my chest, I heaved my body to the left, scraping along the wall. Before I swung back into the line of fire of the Griever, I reached out with my other hand and grabbed another thick vine that would hold my weight. I released the first vine and grabbed the next with both hands, allowing my body to turn so that I was able to plant the bottom of my feet on the wall. I shuffled my body to the right as far as the plant would allow me, then let go and grabbed another one. Then another. It felt like I was a monkey swinging from branch to branch; I discovered, with this method, that I was able to move faster than on the ground. Covering more ground than expected.

The sounds of my pursuers carried on relentlessly behind me, only now mixing with the bone-shuddering addition of cracking and splitting rocks. I swung to the right several more times before I even dared to look back.

The Griever had pinpointed my every step, and had moved to catch up, trying to match my every move. It shredded the ivy as it went, spikes piercing its body furiously. Not wasting a second more, I pushed off the wall as hard as I could, allowing my body to swing from side to side as I fled the creature. I didn't need to look behind me, I knew the Griever was gaining on me with every passing second. The cracks and thuds gave it away.

On the next switch, the world slowed down. It was like I was shot out of my body to watch the horror unfold in front of me. I aimed my hand to grab the next vine, but instead of a strong grasp, my fingers caught it at an awkward angle, causing it to slip through my grasp. I scrambled to gain a tighter hold on the vine, but I slipped too far and burned my palms. I hissed in pain, but pushed the feeling aside and reached out for the closest vine with my good hand. As I tried to clasp the vine, my burnt hand collapsed and gave way.

No more monkey-Clarke.

The world slip from my grasp and I found myself falling, my consciousness returned to its twirling meat-cage. The dark floor hurtled towards me, faster and faster until I hit the stone. I knew immediately that I had broken my ankle. Pain like a hot steel wire jabbed its way up my leg and into my hip. The world narrowed around me, my ankle and the painful agony. I had almost blacked out. My head spun. My breath became short and rapid. I could not go into shock. I collapsed on the floor, overwhelmed with pain that ran up and down my body. The Griever was gaining on me and there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I glanced up to see if it had noticed my sudden departure from its view. It had and with its beady eyes, it shredded towards me; tearing everything in its wake, gaining speed as if it was a falcon diving for its prey.

I shuffled my body towards the opposite side of the wall, leaning my back in a sitting position. Sweat poured down my face as I knew what was going to happen. I was never going to make Group C, not like this.

I closed my eyes and waited for death to come; the sharp needles piercing my skin, adding to the array of scars that had already marked my young body. I sat there, ready to give up.

No.

I.

Would.

Not.

Give.

Up.

I.

Will.

Prove.

Them

Wrong.

I WOULD ACHIEVE THE IMPOSSIBLE!

The Game had only just begun, and I was now in control. A light bulb blinked in the darkest part of my mind, an idea that I knew would work and have a massive effect.

I snapped my eyes open and scanned for the screwdriver, which had fallen out of my pocket when I fell from above. It sat a few metres away, half buried by vines that had fallen with me. I stretched as far as I could and tried to clutch the screwdriver, but my arms weren't long enough. A small peek up saw that I would have to have the screwdriver in my grasp by the next try, or succumb to the idea of being Griever-food.

I dragged my burning body along the stone wall, pushing and manoeuvring with my arms. Closer than before, I again tried to reach for the device, letting my fingers stretch to their full potential. Gold, that is what I struck. I managed to brush the tips of my fingers across the cool metal and ease the device towards me. When it rolled underneath my palm, I grabbed it as hard as I could, resulting in my knuckles turned white as snow.

A booming crash sounded in front of me, followed by the rolling, cracking, whirring of the Griever. This time I was ready. Lifting the device firmly up, I pointed it at the advancing creature and pressed the button that would save my life more than once tonight.

A jet of bright green light exploded from the top, fused with a strange whirring sound that I was all too familiar with. The sonic seemed to be doing the job as the Griever riled back in anger, its body collapsing in on itself. The creature thrashed and screamed as I kept the device pointed at it, foam forming in its mouth. It threw its body against the wall, it curling in on itself like a blue bottle fly. The metallic arms twisted in unnatural ways, bending towards its head. The beams of light projected from the creature's metal arms bounced on the wall in random spots, never focusing in one place at a time; the clasping claw swinging back and forth, clutching at the air with a death grip. It was like this for a few moments, as the creature struggled against whatever sonic energy was disturbing its system. Those red beady eyes looked at me for its final moments, staring right down into my soul, tearing away my outer shell. The Griever knew its time was up, and for its final cry, it bellowed its haunted moaning; chilling me to the bone.

The light faded within its eyes, plunging the corridor once again into darkness. I waited, keeping my body as still as I could. Experience told me that waiting seemed the best option. Killing a Griever was on an entirely different scale to killing a beetle blade.

Twenty minutes passed before I was brave enough to wriggle my legs to subside the burning, tingling sensation. I rested my head on the wall, the air flowing back into my lungs after a restricted access. Adrenaline seeping out.

Then it all sunk in, I had done it. I killed a Griever whilst injured on the floor. And, it hadn't jumped back up, its deformed body lying still on the broken floor, foam dripping from its mouth and its legs limp against is side.

"Take that WICKED," I wheezed.

In reality, they were laughing at me. Still, I yet had to prove my worth and survive. To make matters worse, I wasn't able to run away. I truly was a sitting duck. I needed to carry on within the Maze, following the pattern, which I had used to get here in the first place, to find a way home. This was going to be difficult.

Even with my limited amount of medical of knowledge, I knew that my ankle was broken, especially if it was bent at an awkward angle.

"Oh God," I whispered. Resetting a broken bone was an area that I had no knowledge on. A sob caught in my throat, allowing my sorrow drown out. I searched around, hoping that a miracle would occur. My voice caught itself in my throat. I couldn't speak my words, plead with the WICKED people to end this torture. Help, all I needed was help.

And my prayers were answered. A whisper of a voice guided actions to undertake to reset the disappointment. I noticed – as I went to follow the instructions – that my fingers trembled, anticipating what they had to do.

This would have to be fast and done correctly, or I would screw up my already damaged ankle. First thing I did was I ripped the sleeve of the shirt I was wearing, scrunching it into a ball and stuffing it in my mouth. This would reduce the noise and help with channelling the pain.

I gently pulled my leg towards me, allowing for easy access when it all happened. The pain was there, it was always there, and now there would be more.

My hands linked themselves round the ankle, the bone prodding into my palm. Tears welled up, and I couldn't control them. My breathing quickened and at one point I closed my eyes.

_Now or never,_ I though. _On the count of three. One, two, three…_

Snap.

I screamed and screamed and screamed. The pain … worse … so much pain.

I spat out the cloth, grimacing with each small movement. My chest heaved in and out as I kept air coming in and out of my lungs. I couldn't … go into shock. I couldn't lose the will.

_Stay awake, Clarke. Stay awake,_ I chanted in my head, knowing full well what would happen if allowed my eyes to close.

"Splint," I thought out loud. "Make splint."

I shifted my weight across the stone floor towards a pile of shredded ivy. I ignored the pain as much as I could, biting down hard on my bottom lip with every hot, fiery moment. Sweat beaded my face, the journey taken a toll on my damaged body. Droplets trickled down, mixing with the blood that dripped out of my lip. Sucking a gulp of air, I reached for the closet vine that looked the longest. I pulled it towards me, wrapping it around my hand in the process.

"You had to break," I scolded my ankle through gritted teeth.

The ankle did not reply.

With a lot of gasping and blinking back tears, I crawled over to the dead Griever's curled up body. The sharp smell of oil burnt the insides of my nose as I inched ever closer to it. At one point, I dragged my burning body across the floor with one hand, using the other to block the suffocating flumes from my mouth and nose.

By the time I reached the Griever, my arms threatened to drop off and join the creature in its dead slumber. With my free arm, I stretched and pushed a limp arm that laid itself out in front of me. I lifted it up and dropped it, no movement. The thing was dead, and I killed it.

Next, came the difficult part. This was the only option to keep my ankle straight. The long spindly arms were bent in places, them being the joints that the Griever used to move around. It seemed fragile enough to break off, but in my state, more weight was needed.

If the sonic screwdriver could kill the creature, then what was it to say that it could help me break a leg off?

I pointed it at the joint, pressing the button firmly.

Result = sparks flying everywhere and part of a leg clattering to the ground, the sound bouncing off the walls.

I shifted my weight to reach for the leg, grabbing the thin metal in my clammy hands. I sized it up to my own, testing to see if would be the right length. It ran up halfway past my thigh, sitting comfortably on the outside.

To gain another, I would have to find another arm to take. The creature had died on its side, some of the legs curled into the body, while a few had stretched themselves out. Like the one I had mauled.

I moved on to a closer arm that had the same spindly structure. I pointed the device at the next leg, picked up the fallen part and placed that on the pile that had formed on my lap.

I shuffled as far away from the body as I could, making sure that I had some room to bind my leg. I placed the items beside me in two piles that I could easily grab from. Adjusting my body so that I was in the perfect position, I got on with what would be the next painful part. Knowing that the vine was too thick to firmly hold the metal spikes in place, I ripped the remaining arm of the shirt and tied it round the centre of my leg, double knotting it.

I picked up the two metal spikes and propped them beside my leg, trying to keep my ankle as straight as possible. I grabbed the vines and wrapped as many as I could around my leg, creating a green cast that secured my ankle in place. The pain intensified when I neared the broken ligaments.

An hour had passed since the death of the Griever. And, I had been fortune enough not to run into any more trouble while I tried to patch myself up. Time had ran out in that broken area, a Griever was soon to wander down. With the little strength I had, I willed myself to stand up.


	23. Chapter Twenty-One

**New update! Hope you enjoy this one, probably not my finest (well none really are), but I did have some fun writing it! **

**Comments, likes and follows appreciated! Especially comments, I need to know how I'm doing! (I've also noticed my extensive use of the exclamation mark, I won't apologise)**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

_Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible ~ Albert Einstein_

* * *

It had been hours since my encounter with the Griever. Hours. Not once did it feel like it. It felt more like days stretched over an endless, painful starry night. The stars, a mocking light that screeched across the dark sky, tormenting me. Insulting me. _You won't last the night_, they whispered through the sharp wind. _No one lasts, not even the best_.

I hate the stars. I hate the night; all it brings is death and despair. And, of course, Grievers. The damn monsters in my nightmare game of an initiation. Just you wait, when I get out of here, and I will, I'm going to kill the person who started this whole thing. The Maze, the deaths, the Grievers, everything. I swear it on my life.

Hours, I had spent painfully hobbling through the Maze, grabbing hold of low vines that I used to pull myself across the corridors. There had been attempts at different models of crutches to shift the weight from my broken ankle, yet none seemed to do the job I wanted it to do. They were with to spindly that they snapped the insistence I used them, or too awkward for my body to handle.

The pain worsened over the next few hours, the ache never really going. Searing hot fire licked its way through my bones and nerves, poking sharply with every slight movement. If I was to die now, then the pain of being stung or stabbed will not live up to the pain of a broken ankle constantly damaged with every movement that my body willed me to take.

But, I was not to welcome death. Death had to wait, for I decided when death came for me. I am in control.

The Maze had changed for the night. The sounds of the walls grinding into different locations more prominent here then within the safety of the Glade. I knew that it had changed; I hear the soft booms and clacks from my bed as I tried to sleep at night. It felt more real. There, it was only a dream that I was certain that I was never going to wind up in.

Ha. Life is a bitch.

I tried to recall the memory of my turns from being chased, but every left I wanted to take was a right and every right was a left. I was just getting more and more lost by the second. Every wall looked the exact the same from the last, surprisingly. There was nothing distinctive about them, no small markings, no writings, no designs. Each turn I took led me into a new grey coloured wall, smothered in an ivy crawlers that I could grab.

Rounding the corners I took with care, checking over my shoulder in case a Griever appeared suddenly. It happened, though, a few times. I was caught off guard as I tried to balance myself on vines. Everything zoned out and I couldn't hear the moaning or the whirring it produced. It was only when the pungent smell and the light that I refocused and snapped into action. The screwdriver would whip out of my pocket, projecting a bright green light that countered the white. They all died, in exactly the same way. A screech, a moan and a hiss until the light faded within them, leaving an empty shell of a dis figured creature curled in on itself.

I shuffled away as fast as I could from each death, who knows what attention that noise could have bought. If I stayed to long, their friends may have decided to rally up and join the death hunt of a tired, hungry, injured girl that would collapse at any second.

I fluttered in and out of consciousness every time I stopped to take a breath. I felt my body relaxing, darkness taking over as it willed itself into a dreamless sleep. Each time I came close to letting go, I jolted back into reality, gripping to the anything that would stop my descent to the floor

It had truly been hours, and finally my time in the Maze would surely be over soon.

* * *

"Clarke …" A voice whispered to me from beyond the darkness. "Clarke, wake up!"

I jerked awake, cracking my head on the Maze wall in the process. I groaned in pain as my eyes wavered open to a disoriented world. Everything was on its side; it was like … wait … what happened to me?

I dragged my aching body up from the cold floor, feeling my way to a vine that I could grab onto to pull myself up. It was only bare wall that I felt, nothing more. I shifted my body into a sitting position instead, pulling my legs in front of me so that they wouldn't become trapped in the wrong way. I grimaced from the pain, sharp needles pricking my every move. I bit my bottom lip, the copper taste stinging my tongue.

I tried to push the pain, distracting myself with inspecting the dust that covered my clothes and more specifically the blood stains that splotched the shirt and my trousers. Along my arms lay dark coloured bruises and a few scratches. God knows what I look like elsewhere. I brushed my filthy trousers down, getting rid of the white dust that covered the dark material like little islands.

"Look up. Look … up."

I jumped at the sudden voice that erupted in the corridor. Once again, smashing my head against the wall. I groaned in response and followed the command that was directed at me. I raised my head to search the source in which the voice spoke from. As I searched for it, I noticed that the sky had turned a pale pink colour, splashed with hints of oranges and soft blues. The artists painting had once again returned to decorate the sky above, and that meant one thing, with all odds stacked against my very broken body, I was able to survive a night in the Maze.

Or, this was what death looked like.

"Where do I look?" I questioned to the voice that spoke to me. "I can't see you. Amy, is that you?"

"You did well, Clarke." Said not Amy's voice. "Very well indeed."

"What happened to Amy? Who are you? Where is Amy?" I demanded with the new deeper voice. I tried scrambling up the side of the wall to see if a screen had appeared above me.

"Calm down. Amy is fine, she's right here. But, she didn't want to talk to you."

"Why wouldn't she want to do that?"

"After your last encounter, she didn't think it would be right. You seemed … upset with her."

"Ya think," I mumbled.

"I can switch if you want?"

"No, no. It's fine. I don't mind who I talk to." I quickly said, trying to make my voice as least pleading as it was starting to sound. I didn't have anything against Amy – she actually seemed quite nice, under the harshness of her words and her telling me that I had a chance of dying. But, the memory of me being dragged back into the Maze still was very raw (a few hours raw), and I didn't want to be reminded of that terrible occurrence, feel that pain again. "Who are you?"

"Rory, you remember. Right?"

"Yeah, you're the other Pond."

"It's actually Williams', but I'll let that slide."

"Alright Pond, tell me what is happenin'?"

"Well, we're not too sure. It seemed the cameras blanked out for a few minutes and when they got them working again, you were lying on the floor."

"How long?" I whispered, unable to understand why I couldn't remember anything that had happened before I fell unconscious.

"At least an hour, maybe longer. You were really lucky, the Grievers just left you alone. Not one came down the area where you slept, not one–" Rory was cut off by the sudden crash on the other side, followed by a grunt and a chorus of shouting.

"Exactly one hour. I timed it," a newer voice said with a hint of excitement. "Do you feel anything different?"

I stayed silent.

"Answer the question,"

"Groggy, tired, hungry." I answered bluntly.

"Nothing else?"

"Well, now I think about it," I pondered. "Over the last few minutes of talkin', my ankle seems to have died down. I don't think that is normal. It still hurts, but only a dull pain."

"Interesting," the voice murmured back.

"But, it's only just stopped. It hurt a few moments ago." I interjected, moving my legs around again to stop pins and needles. I still felt no pain.

"That is very peculiar indeed. It's not like them to go for the youngest first." The voice carried on talking without even acknowledging my statement.

"What are you goin' on about?" I asked twisting my head again to find the source of all the noise. "Where's Rory? Who are you? I want to talk to Rory."

"Rory's fine," the voice said, it muffled down the microphone with another voice talking over. I couldn't quite understand what the actual words were said, but it went somewhat along the lines of 'fine my arse'. "I'm the Doctor, remember me?"

Of course, the voice that wracked havoc the first time we met. It was the man that danced around the room and took the situation not all that seriously. He also seemed a bit nuts. "Yeah, I remember. You got the stupid bow-tie and everythin'."

"Stupid bow-tie!" The Doctor squealed down the microphone. "I would have you know that bow-ties are cool."

"Doc, get on with what you're supposed to do," someone shouted distantly through the microphone.

"Yes, yes. Of course, things to do, places to be," the Doctor rambled on, his voice quietening every few words till eventually he mumbled words that I couldn't quite here.

"It's Rory, again."

I stayed silent.

"You still there?"

"Yep."

"Good," Rory continued. "We have some good news and bad news. Pick?"

"Good." I said hesitantly.

"Great! Good news is you've booked yourself a ticket in Group C. Bad news is you're going to have to get back to the centre before nightfall again. I can't quite tell you where you are, but …" His voice lowered in volume as he spoke the next part. "You aren't far from the East Door, and some others. So, stay put for a bit, and they should cross your path sure enough."

"But, if I've got in, then surely WICKED should remove me," I said. "It's the best viable option."

"It wouldn't be the right time to do it; they have something planned that will be easier for you to be extracted."

"_Extracted_? Why go through the fuss? They can take me out now … can't they?"

Rory let out a long sigh. "It would make sense, but who knows what their really doing. I surely don't. Everything is refused to us; classified."

"So, I wait for the signal to be _extracted_?"

"Pretty much."

"Urgh, this day keeps getting worse and worse," I mumbled to myself.

"Just hang in there, Clarke," Rory said before his end of the line went deadly silent.

I waited for a few minutes to see if anyone would return with more information. Two minutes turned into five, and soon enough I had waited for fifteen. No noise came out of the speaker, only a static moan that buzzed around the corridor. I rested my head on the cold stone wall of the Maze and stared into nothing. I decided that I would wait here for the time being, follow Rory's instructions and see who these other people were that found themselves in the Maze at night.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Hello there fellow Gladers, new chapter for you all. Hope you like it, sorry it's a bit short.**

**Comments appreciated! Each one brightens up my day, I get excited when the email comes through!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

_There are no secrets that time does not reveal. ~ Jean Racine_

* * *

Forty-five minutes passed since Rory had last spoken. The continual crackling echoing through the corridor died down not too long ago, leaving a silence where the wind whistled through. I strained to hear the dreaded moaning or whirring drifting around the corners. Silence. It was as if everything ceased to exist when the sun came up, the life in the Maze crawling back to their holes for the day, waiting to catch the next lot of poor unfortunate souls that found themselves stranded here in the night. Which would have been me if I didn't get a move on.

Long enough had passed on waiting for these people to turn up, every second I wasted sitting in this spot was a second longer I would be spending another in the Maze – another I knew I wouldn't survive. Tracing my hands up the side of the wall, I could feel the rough surface of it. Not a bloody ivy vine in reaching distance. Bloody useless. Bloody useless vines. I hate shuffling, it hurts.

After several moments of grunting, pulling and some rock climbing, I eventually able to stand on one foot, leaning against the wall. There were no vines close enough for me to reach, not for a good few metres both sides. It was like the plants had retracted back from themselves and created a barrier between me and themselves. Very strange, very strange indeed.

Standing on one foot, I debated which way was the best to get back to the Glade, to my bed. Left or right. Right or left. It was down to a flip of a coin.

"Which way is it?" I growled in frustration, glancing around for a screen to appear again. I didn't want to choose, I didn't want to pick wrong and end up spending another night in the Maze. For once, I wanted someone else decide what I did, let them chose my fate for me.

"Fine then," I grumbled to no one in particular, and made my decision.

Left it would because I said so and it would lead to the Glade. Tracing my hands across the bare, rough wall, I shuffled along the wall, lifting my bad leg in the air. The continuous motion of hopping to the nearest vines brought back a dull throbbing pain. Little movements of any kind seemed to strengthen the sting, bringing back the intense torture that I had briefly forgotten. The ankle and I didn't have a very good relationship. Okay, blaming the ankle maybe an overstatement. My legs are a bloody nuisance. When I get out of this Maze, and I will, I am demanding new legs. If WICKED can erase memories and build repulsive creatures, then what is to say that they can replace my legs with better ones that actually do what their supposed to do – not fucking break.

I paused for a second, catching my breath as I leant against the wall. It was hard work trying to move across the wall with nothing to help. The vines were close, but not close enough. I needed them now before I collapsed from exhaustion. I let a hiss escape then carried on with my task.

Faster, I had to move faster. No way was I going to spend another night in the Maze. But, the more I tried quicken my pace, the further away the Glade seemed to be – where everything that felt familiar lay.

_Well then, travel faster if you want to get back to familiar_, my mind told me. Oh why is my mind so patronising? I'll request a new one as well.

I sucked a large gulp of air, brushing my hair out of my face and took to shuffling again across the wall.

_I'm gonna make it, gonna make it_, circled through my head.

I crawled along the wall as far as I could before I decided to stretch out one of my arms. My fingertips brushed the closest vines, not being able to fully grasp it. A tiny bit closer and I would be able to clasp it. I readjusted my body, so that I could slowly move closer to the vines. It took me a few attempts, but eventually my hand caught onto the green shrubbery.

Next came the difficult part, pulling myself along without hurting my bad leg and possibly trying to fall over. Inch by inch, I dragged myself to new vines, using the little strength that I had. Finally, I made it after what seemed like forever.

I was tired beyond believe, every part of my body shook from the exhaustion, my muscles fatigued. When I got back, I could sleep the rest of the week away, or month, or year.

"Clarke!" a voice shouted behind me. I twisted my head to see down the end of the corridor, seeing two figures looking like they had been dragged through hell and back. My eyes were failing me, everything blurring into one that I couldn't quite identify the one who called my name. But, I recognised the voice, the annoying sound … of … Greenie.

"Thomas?" I called back, hoping that I had guessed right. Instead of replying, both figures seemed to sprint in my direction. Hallucinations were the one thing I didn't need right now; two figures running towards me but never making it. They would just keep on running until I realised that they weren't real in the first place. I turned my head away and waited for the shouts to disappear.

A tremor erupted through my arms, sending my muscles into a spasm. It became difficult to hold on to the vine, so I slipped, crashing into the wall. I grunted in pain, my arms straining under the weight of holding up my body. I tried to grip the vine tighter, cursing Thomas and the other for not hurrying up, but they only slipped further.

The pain needed to end, the full force of it again returning, spiking hot rods electrifying my nerve endings. Oh, I wish I wasn't so helpless. I could have found them quicker and not been near death. Unable to bear the pain much longer, I let the vine go and crashed to the ground, my ankle masking the pain of the concrete ground colliding with my body.

"Greenie, help me get her up," Minho ordered as he and Thomas grabbed my shoulder, hoisted me from the floor into a sitting position against the wall. I gritted my teeth the whole time, hissing in pain with each small movement. "What happened 'ere, Clarke? Actually, why are you 'ere, and what the shuckin' hell is wrong with ya leg?"

"Fell … great height … avoiding Griever." I pointed to the sky. "Chased me … me up … wall. Tried gettin' … away. Fell … so far. And broke it." I tapped the vines lightly, a weak smile on my face.

"Broke what, your leg?"

"No." I shook my head furiously. "My ankle."

"And, somehow you've wrapped it up?" Minho asked, puzzlement clearly written across his face.

"Yep," I said. "Why … is that … hard to believe?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno, maybe the reason that there isn't anything to fix it with. What you use for supports?"

"Thin metal spikes."

"Where are those spikes from?" Minho pushed, his arms crossed around his chest.

"A Griever," I mumbled.

"A, what?"

"Griever." I said through gritted teeth.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"And what? It just _gave_ them to you?"

"No!" I snapped.

"Then, what?" Minho retorted, his voice increasing.

I paused for a second, contemplating the answer that I should give him while not exposing the whole truth. Just after Rory went silent on the line, a small phrase was uttered down it, just audible for my ears alone to hear. _Tell the others about this, and you'll never leave this Maze alive_. The small, but powerful, threat scared me to the bones, and I intended to keep that promise, for all of our sakes.

"I'm not sure," I said bluntly. "It all just seems blank. I don't even think I was awake."

"So, what you are saying is that the Griever was just magically dead when you unblanked. It didn't touch you nor try to kill you."

"Dead." I narrowed my eyes. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Minho scoffed and threw his hands up into the air. He didn't reply.

"Is it because I'm a girl?" I pushed, my voice now rising. "You know, I can do whatever you can do, and do it ten times better. So, whatever did happen, the Griever died and I didn't."

There was no response from either boys. Gotcha.

"Fine, it died," Minho finally said. "One thing is botherin' me, though. Why on earth are you in the Maze?"

"Thought I do a little sight-seeing," I joked. Wrong idea.

"Try again?"

"Dragged in." I carefully said, testing what truths I could use. Nothing happened as I uttered the words, so being pulled in was a viable option.

"Why?"

"Don't know."

"You're lying. I can see it."

"Am not!"

"You are!"

"Guys!" Thomas shouted, causing the argument cease to exist. I looked up to Thomas, who stood further away from us, seeing his bloodshot eyes and tear stains that marked his face. Minho joined him in that aspect (even with the tears, but they were more faint and harder to see). Whatever happened to them mustn't been a pleasant business. "We're wasting time. We need to get out of here now if we want to get back to the Glade."

"I don't say this often, but Greenie … sorry … I mean, Thomas you're right. And with this lump it may slow us down." Minho said as he rose from his kneeling position, running his hand through his hair. "Can you walk in any way?"

"No," I softly replied.

"So, how have you been moving round the Maze?"

"Grabbing vines and shuffling. It's harder than it looks."

"My, my. And I thought couldn't get any harder in ways to survive the night here in the Maze." Minho muttered to himself, gazing up to the now light blue sky. "Thomas, we're going to have to carry her. You strong enough yet?"

"Yeah, I can do it."

"Good that." Minho nodded. "We're gonna have to pick her up gently. Right, give me your arm, and the other to Thomas." I stretched out my arms to Minho and Thomas. They both grabbed them and hooked them over their heads. "Now, Tom, be careful. We don't want to cause any more damage than there already is."

Slowly and gently, Minho and Thomas lifted me from the ground, trying as hard as possible not to cause any pain. I yelped a few times from the pressure placed onto my bad leg. They apologised at the speed of light, easing off and carried on with helping me up. It didn't take long until I was fully standing again on two feet, this time with people to support me. It felt better to be able to relieve the pain, not so much relying on others.

"We're up, and would you look at that, you weren't as heavy as I thought," Minho laughed beside me, wheezing slightly as he adjusted my weight onto his. Thomas eyed Minho, copying his exact movements, adjusting himself to spread the weight between both of them. "Alright there, Thomas?"

"Yeah, ready to go," Thomas replied enthusiastically.

"Okay you two," Minho started with a stern voice. "We ain't that far away from the Glade. Luckily, we are closer than we think. But we're gonna to have to work as a team to get there. Got that. Means no stopping until we cross the doors."

"Good that," I mumbled as the three of us took our steps back towards familiarity.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Hello there fellow Gladers, guess what I saw last week ... SCORCH TRIALS! OMG, it was good. So good that I can't even put it into words. But, much of the plot line was changed from the book, which was sad.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's one of three personal favourites I have out of this book (the other two being chapter seventeen and chapter nine). It was a bit of a gamble some of the stuff, but hey-ho, its fanfic, anything can happen.**

**I've been enjoying all the comments I've received, they really do make my day. Send me one, good or bad, brighten my day, I don't care. It shows that people are at least engaging with it.**

**I've so far updated to chapter nine, a few minor changes, nothing big.**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

_The difference is this. Pain is a gift. Without the capacity for pain, we can't feel the hurt we inflict. ~The Doctor_

* * *

"We gotta get back," Thomas wheezed as we turned another corner of the Maze. "Gotta get Alby off the wall." Seeing the look of confusion on our faces, Thomas quickly explained what he'd done with the ropes of ivy. Which in a way was similar to what I had done. Minus one extra to worry about.

Minho looked down, his eyes gloomy. "No way he's still alive."

"How do you know? Come on, faster." His pace hastened in step as he refused to believe what might be the truth. Minho matched his, their steps becoming longer then what I was able to take. I didn't complain, though. I didn't want to stop our chance of getting back and potentially saving Alby from death.

"Because no one's ever made it ..." Minho trailed off, and I knew what he was thinking.

"That's because they've always been killed by the Grievers by the time you found them. Alby was only stuck with one of those needles, right?" Thomas interrogated, shifting my arm round his neck.

"I don't know, I guess this has never happened before. A few guys have been stung by the needles during the day. And those are the ones who got the Serum and went through the Changing. The poor shanks who got stuck out in the Maze all night weren't found until later – days later, sometimes, if at all. And all of them were killed in ways you don't wanna hear about."

I shuddered at the thought.

"After what we went through, I think I can imagine."

"What happened in the Maze for you?" I asked, curious as to why Alby was stuck up a wall. They told me everything, but by flashes of looks between them, some of the story was ... how to I put it ... fabricated to hide certain actions to impress the girl. We turned yet another corner, our pace picking up, still not complaining. Thomas surprised me slightly through the Maze, he leaned into corners before Minho showed the way, it was as if he knew where he was going, like the runner.

"Okay – the Serum," Thomas said. "I've heard it a couple of times now. What is it? And where does it come from?"

"Just what it sounds like, shank. It's a serum. The Grief Serum."

Thomas let out a strained laugh that vibrated through my arm and down my body. The slight movements of his body made my ankle hurt even more. His vibrations set off an intense pain that was already rising up. I tried to retain a straight face throughout, but a small grimace did escape. And it was enough to gain worried looks from both sides.

"I think we should stop," Minho said, slowing down.

"No, no," my voice reacted, my head shaking. "Keep going, don't worry about me."

"But you're as white as a–"

"Go!" I snapped, startling them both into moving again. The pace of our walking wasn't as fast as it was before, but we were still making good time.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, our feet pounding the concrete floor of the Maze in time with one another, Thomas continued his firing round of questions. "Just when I think I've learned everything about this stupid place." He mumbled to himself, a tone of irritation lacing its way in. "Why is it called that, the Grief Serum? And why are Grievers called, well, Grievers?"

My head turned to Minho, expecting a good answer for this constant tennis match I was playing between the two. "This better be good," I added in, as we both waited for Minho to give a long explanation of all things that happened here. Not the crash-course one that Chuck had given on the day I woke up.

He explained as we continued through the endless turns of the Maze, no one really leading the way anymore. "I don't know where we got the names from, but the Serum comes from the Creators. It's with the supplies in the Box every week, always has been. Not sure if it's a medicine or an antidote, but it's already inside a syringe, ready to use. Stick the sucker in someone who's been stung and it saves 'em. They go through the Changing – which sucks – but after that, they're healed."

A minute or two passed in silence as Thomas and I both tried to process the information that was given to us; we made a couple of more turns. I wondered about the Changing, and what it all meant. And for some reason, I couldn't help thinking about the boy that had died because of it, Ben. The way that his head snapped left and his body slumped to the ground.

"Weird, though," Minho finally continued. "This has never been talked about before. If he's still alive, there's really no reason to think Alby can't be saved by the Serum. Somehow, it's in our klunk heads that once the Doors closed, you were done. I gotta see this hanging-on-the-wall thing myself."

We kept walking, Minho weirdly happier than he had been a few moments ago, but something didn't seem right with Thomas. His body was all tense up with each step we took.

"Alright, Thomas?" I asked, sensing that there was something that he needed to get off his chest.

"What if another Griever got Alby after I diverted the one chasing me?"

I looked over at him with a blank expression on my face, Minho possibly the same.

"Let's hurry then," Thomas said.

Our steps hastened, trying to will our bodies to move faster than they already had been. It was no use, they hurt too much from spending a night in the Maze and yearned for a good long rest in a comfortable bed. After a few turns later, we settled into a slow walk, to the relief of my ankle. My head started to bow with tiredness, swaying in time with the steps. I couldn't focus for much longer, and for the briefest of moments my eyes shut tight, not allowing a crack of light through them.

"Hey, Clarke." I grunted in response, letting my eyes peek open. "Not time to sleep just yet. Hang on for a few more minutes."

I willed myself to open them, to try and stay awake for a few minutes like I was told. But, I just couldn't do it, no matter how much brain power I put into it. I was sleep deprived badly, and it was now catching up to me like a sneaky little demon that keeps pounding on my head. Because, I also have a splitting headache. Pain radiated out of me, churning my insides to the point where just about everything hurt.

Noises could be heard from around the next corner of the Maze, gradually getting louder with every step that we took. I felt my body tense up, my muscles tightening with the danger lurking round the corner. I wasn't fully aware that we had made it back, all I knew was the pain and the movement. Nothing else.

The closer we got to the noises, the more my body readied itself to jump and the sound of danger. I tried to wriggle my arm from Minho's shoulder to grab the screwdriver in my pocket. However, he only gripped tighter and whispered a few words of comfort in my ears.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, not letting go of my arm. "We're back."

At the sound of this, my eyes snapped open to reveal the opening of the West Doors towering over us. A group of Gladers had made camp on this side, looking to see if the three would return. An eruption of gasps and mummers of confusion circled around the group of Gladers, some shouting for others to come see the miracle before them. For a moment, I felt the weight of all the pain lift from my shoulders and the blackness return, letting the world slip from under my feet. I stumbled into Thomas's side, my good leg knocking my bad. I cried out in pain, no longer suppressing the urge to keep quiet. I collapsed onto Thomas's shoulder, bringing Minho along with me. There was no strength left in my body to move any further. I was surprised with myself that I was able to get this far without any more serious damage.

"It's okay. It's okay." Thomas repeated, trying to help Minho stand while he took all of my weight. A second later, we were once again back in our same positions, now shuffling towards safety. More Gladers had now turned up at the entrance, pointing at the three miracles that should be dead.

A few of them had broken away from the group once they had heard me cry out in pain, rushing over to help us.

I felt the lightheaded feeling again, the world being pulled from beneath me. I stumbled once more, my legs knocking against one another. Too weak to hold any more, Minho let my arm slip from his grasp as he collapsed beside me, his body crashing to the floor. Thomas's knees buckled from the weight of trying to hold me. With a quick reaction, he shoved my weak body as hard as he could away from his collapsing, before he too was on the ground, exhausted. I stumbled away from him, landing heavily on my broken ankle. The world narrowed around me, like it had done the first time I heard that snap. All I could feel was the agony of the pain, the searing rods that shot up and down. I was sure that I was going to black out. It would have been a welcome if I had.

I watched as the walls of the Maze moved further and further back from me, the world spinning too fast for me to catch it. I was flying for sure, my body so light that the wind rushed by me to keep me afloat.

I expected to hit the floor in a crumbled mess, the pain to flare up even further. But, two strong arms grabbed me at the last second and held me there. My skin crawled and I glanced down at my hands, noticing that my hair was standing up on end. The world around me blurred, and all I could focus on was to stay awake and stay conscious. My skin drained of colour into a deathly pale, the blood rushing away from my veins. My head drooped and spun as I tried to force my body to push away the darkness. Nonetheless, it only kept creeping up, slowly at first, and then at full force. The two strong arms around me tightened their grip and shook my body softly, trying to stop me from going into the darkness.

"Don't stare into the shadows," I muttered to myself, the reason behind it unknown. Before I could understand the peculiar sentence, I let myself slip away. I was too tired to hold on any longer, too tired to force my body to stay awake. I let my head relax back, allowing it to fall behind me as I went into a deep soundless sleep that I so desperately needed. I could hear whispers of shouts as I finally let go of the reality around me.

* * *

After a few times of passing out, you would think that I would have gotten used to it. The pulling sensation of being led into nothingness. Sleep is not usually the best way to describe it. I forget every time I delve into that experience is going to be the same. A memory sometimes pops back in to haunt me, but not this time. No, this time all I could feel was the empty coldness. It was as if the dreams had run away from this coldness, the fear too scary for even them.

I was just there, in an empty cold that filled every part of my body, seeping into the small cracks that marked me. The cold didn't mask the pain. I could still feel that creeping, menacing rods that travelled up and down, piercing in the same spot each time. I wished the cold would numb the pain, or at least dull it down so it didn't burn so much.

My eyes fluttered open, instantly blinded by the harsh light that crept into the room. I rose my hand to cover my face, my arms aching from stiffness at the sudden movement to block out the light. I winced slightly as I recalled the events of what happened this morning, a few hours ago. It can't be the same day, right?

I heaved my head from the pillow, making sure that I didn't trigger any other pain. My neck, well it was stiff, but didn't hurt as bad as the rest of my body did. My head pounded, brewing a headache that I was surely going to hate.

Peering round the room, a sense of déjà vu hit me. I was not lying in my own bed, I was in the same one that I had woken in first time round. Same bed, same creaking noise, same table with a bowl of water on it. All of it was unchanged.

"This is freaky," I said, propping myself onto my elbows.

The only difference to this room was that two chairs had been dragged in, with a wrinkled sheet lying over the top of one of them, like someone had been using it recently.

All of a sudden, the door on the opposite door swung open and Jeff walked in with a glass of water in his hand.

"You're up!" Jeff exclaimed, the water from the glass spilling over the sides from him jumping in surprise.

"How long was I out for?" I asked him, curious to know the length for this time round.

"The Walls closed a half an hour ago so … all day I suppose." Jeff replied with a smile, standing beside my bed, the glass of water on the table.

He placed one hand on my shoulder then one on my back, gently helping me sit up. Once sat up, Jeff lifted my pillow up so that I could shuffle back and rest on it.

"What's the sitch?" I sadly said, knowing full well that there was no good news coming from this.

"Well, you were beaten up pretty badly when they bought you in here. Scrapes and bruises are everywhere, but I could handle them. It's just … well …" He motioned to my leg. More specially my ankle. "Clean break, I think. Ya won't be walkin' on it for a while. But to get round, someone is makin' a pair of crutches for you."

I lifted the bed sheets to reveal a thick white bandage covering my leg at least ten times. It seemed hard to touch when I leant to inspect it.

"Your makeshift cast was quite impressive really. Wouldn't have thought to do that. Where did you get the supports?"

"Griever legs," I said uneasily, not too sure if I still allowed to say that type of thing.

"Griever _what?_" Jeff stuttered back, disbelief smacking him across the face.

I smiled weakly and shrugged my shoulders. Jeff expected me to continue, but I just stayed quite, not wanting to say anything more.

"Okay, well you need anythin' just shout." Jeff said as he turned on his heel and started to make his way out of the room. "I'll grab somethin' for the pain. I'll be a few ticks. Oh, and you have a visitor."

He opened the door and left as he quickly appeared, taking no time to close it behind him. The room fell silent once more, leaving me to the emptiness that haunted my chilling bones.

As someone whose hair is a disaster every day, my hands reacted by themselves playing with the knotted tips of my ratted hair. From falling through a nest of vines and dragging myself across a Maze, my hair decided to have a whale of a time twisting and turning around on itself. In an angry huff, I gathered all my hair as best as I could in a ponytail, taking a strip of bandage that I had noticed lying on the table. With all the hair out of my face, somehow I could see the world clearly. No longer did I look through a haze of hair in my face. I was going to do this more often.

Fixing the strip of bandage holding up my ponytail, I heard the door to the room creak open slowly, the hinges dragging out the sound. My eyes drifted up towards the figure that slowly squeezed their way into the room, not really focusing on the detail but more of trying to tame my mane of a hair. All thoughts stopped when my eyes fell on the boy that stood in the doorway. My heart skipped a beat and flipped at the sight of him standing there in the doorway. Those dark brown eyes delving into mine with emotion so raw I felt like I would end up drowning from it. Those pale-tinged lips slightly parted, his breath slow but firm. Pain filled his eyes from staring at me, that I could only slowly drop my hands from sorting my hair.

"Are you alright?" Newt asked.

"Fine," I answered. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Newt softly replied.

"Cool." I said awkwardly.

A thick silence filled the air between us; the only sounds heard were the soft noises of Gladers finishing their work for the day. I wanted to spill everything out there and then. Wreak havoc to everyone. Instead, I held my tongue.

"Did you get Alby down alright?" I asked, trying to make a conversation.

"Yeah, we got him down," Newt sighed. "Thomas did quite a job of getting' him up there. We had trouble getting' him down. Clint's given in the Serum. He's a lucky shank if you ask me."

I gave a sigh of relief knowing that at least everyone that entered the Maze was now safe. The room fell silent again, letting the discomfort slip back in between us. We were both on opposite sides of the room. Everything was just awkward between us; it was unsettling.

"Why were you in the Maze?" Newt's voice spoke breaking the silence between us.

I tore my eyes way from staring in the corner of the room to catching the hard, cold stare of his – no warmth found within them. He purse his lips, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for a good reply to come from me.

"What?" I asked dumbfound, my heart pounding in my chest ready to explode.

"Why were you in the Maze?" Newt asked once again, annoyance creeping in.

Ah crap.

"I … It happened so quickly, I can't remember." I told him, holding back the truth as much as I could.

"But you screamed, you must know." Newt pushed, his eyebrow rising.

"I went to … no … it doesn't matter." I was about to tell him everything that happened, I needed to tell someone. I wanted to spill all of it, relay the information that I collect. But, I couldn't, that would put him at risk, and I didn't want that.

"Yeah, you went to see what?" Newt probed, his tone of voice changing.

There was a pause from my end. I couldn't make up my mind if I should tell him or not, expose the big secrets or keep him safe. "The sounds," I breathed. It was the truth.

"Sounds?"

"I don't know," I squeaked, not wanting to talk about this anymore, remembering the threat above my head.

"Fine," Newt snapped. "But what I don't get is that Minho is tellin' me that you told him that somethin' dragged you in. Is that true?"

"Yes," I say, in almost a whisper.

Silence. There it was again in the room. Awkward silence that filled the space between us.

My heart hammered against my rip-cage so loud that I thought he could hear it from over there. I needed to say something. I needed to tell him. I can't stay in silence forever.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice cracking. I dropped my gaze to watch my hands fuss around each other in nervousness.

"W-why?" Newt stuttered, unable to fathom words.

"I should have stayed, but I went in. It was stupid of me to think I could just peek at the source. Should have stayed, should have listened to the rule. I just wanted to see. I didn't want to cause any trouble. I didn't want to disappoint anyone. I didn't want to upset you." I revealed to him, putting all my thoughts into one sentence.

_How could I have been so stupid!_ I thought.

"Clarke, listen. What's done is done, don't start beatin' yourself up about it. I'm not upset about this." Newt said softly to me.

"You aren't?" I asked, confused.

"No. I was scared, terrified even. I was terrified for you. I thought for sure that you were dead. Gone. Lifeless. I didn't want them to bring back you're body if they found it, _if_ they found it. The others … there my brothers in arms, I've known since the blank. And that blasted Greenie, Thomas, who ran in to them. Got balls that one. But you, goin' in there when you knew the rules. That's not even the worst of it. Your scream pierced me, Clarke. I thought you had died. And when you got up to get back, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to be there with you. I didn't want you to die alone. Not in there." Newt spoke softly to me, his eyes lessening in harshness. He began to take steps towards me while he spoke his words. I sunk back down the pillow, slightly afraid of what was going on. I shifted my legs to ease out the dreaded feeling, but it only bought pain. I took a sharp breath, masking the pain of my ankle.

_Your leg doesn't hurt, you hear me, it doesn't_ I thought. I bent my head and closed my eyes for a second, channelling out the pain.

"Clarke, is everythin' alright? Do you need any pain killers?" Newt worriedly asked.

"No, I'm fine. Please, the less it is mentioned, the less it hurts." I said.

"_It?_"

"Yeah, the disappointment." I pointed to the lump that was created under the sheets. "_It_ shall not be named because _it_ does not deserve to be acknowledged."

A small smile broke on Newt's perfect lips; he was amused at my joke. Well, it wasn't a joke. I was serious, _it _was a disappointment!

"I stayed by the East Door all night waitin' for just a sight of you. Just to see you. I was counting on you to return. I even hoped to hear you through the walls, to at least have something to know that you were alright. Deep down, I knew that I was acting stupid. And, I believe that you had died or had been dead for some time. Alone. I just couldn't bear it."

Newt was now sitting down on the bed, careful not to disturb my leg. His eyes never left mine, the warmth of them radiated down my body, and I felt reassured by them that he wouldn't do anything … outrageous.

"I know I'm being selfish. I know that you were scared. Gods, I don't think scared even covers it. It's … it's just that I couldn't lose you. I gave up hope on you." Newt cried, his bottom lips trembling in sadness. "I told Chuck and a few others that you wouldn't come back. I gave up on you!" Newt broke down there and then. His eyes welled up with tears that trickled down his face. He looked away from and buried his head into his hands and sobbed.

I was shocked. The boy that seemed to never break, broke. Ignoring the pain that swelled around me, I rose from my sitting position and put my arms around the crying boy. I drew the bandage out of my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders again. Gently, I pulled Newt's hands away from his face and wiped away the tears that marked his cheeks. "Don't cry. Don't be sad. I'm fine, I came back. A little broken maybe, but I did."

"But, I gave up hope on you." Newt whimpered.

"Hope, no you didn't give that up. You were scared and frightened. But you never gave up hope. If you gave up hope, I wouldn't be here. I was scared yes, but I had courage. Courage isn't just about being scared, you know. It's being scared, and doing what you have to do anyway. Shh, please don't cry."

"Wise words, Sun Princess," he murmured.

And then Newt kissed me.

Holding my hand against his chest, his other hand sliding across my neck, his touch feathery soft turning everything inside me to rubber. It probably seemed peaceful from the outside world, but my insides were rioting. Something strange happened in my chest, like my heart breaking open and spilling heat into my body, tingling through my limbs. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart, taste the sweetness of apples that lingered on his mouth. I wound my hands into his hair, as I'd wanted to do since the first time I'd seen him. His golden hair curled around my fingers, silky and fine. My heart hammered in my body, and there was burning sensation that electrified every one of my nerve endings. I gasped in pain and broke away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Newt spluttered, shifting away from my leg and making a mess of things.

"Ow, ow. Newt stop moving, you're only making it worse!" I giggled, grabbing his shoulders and holding him still. "There, the pain has stopped now."

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, looking down at his fumbling hands. "I didn't mean t–"

"It's fine, no harm done." I reassured him.

I couldn't help but smile at him. And once a smile marked my face, he smiled back. We both stared at each other for a few seconds, smiles on our faces, before we erupted into fits of laughter like crazy people.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," Newt admitted, his smile slightly fading. "Ever since I first saw you. You caused trouble, and that was fun."

I opened my mouth to reply when I was interrupted by a loud knock that echoed across the room, making us both jump.

"Up and outta. Visitn' time is up!" Jeff cheerily said as he swung open the door and sailed in. He swiftly placed a bottle of pills by my bed and stood waiting for Newt to leave, his arms crossed.

"Give me one more minute," Newt said to the Med-jack. Jeff crossed his arms and waited there by the table. "Alone Jeff. Go see if Alby is okay."

"Fine," he huffed, and he swooped out the room as fast as he entered. Shutting the door behind him.

Newt turned to face me again, his eyes wavering over my face. He lifted his hand and brushed a stray piece of hair from my face, putting it behind my ear. His fingers lingered a moment longer behind my ear, before he lightly brushed them against the side of my jawline. Electrifying twinges erupted from his soft touch, my nerve endings exploding into flames. His brown eyes twinkled in the fading sunlight, illuminating with a happiness that seemed to not have been there before.

Newt's hands cupped the sides of my face, his eyes delving into mine, chipping away the exterior of me until there was nothing left but vulnerability.

"I've always marvelled at how you've been able to cope here," Newt breathed. "You truly are extraordinary in every way possible."

"Well," I began, "that's a bit of an over statement. Don't ya think?"

"Why would you ever think that?" Newt asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. "You've held up your own in this goddamn place. Let all the bad stuff slide past, like it's not even botherin' you. And, you managed to survive a night in the Maze when no other could. With a broken ankle. That's pretty extraordinary to me."

"I guess," I said, a red blush filling my checks.

"At least we agree on something," Newt cheerfully replied, his face beaming with a toothy grin. He leaned in once more to hastily kiss me, both trying to savour the moment that would surely be interrupted again.

"I would kiss you for longer," Newt spoke, his lips still firmly pressed to mine. "But, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to stop. And we can't go round scarin' Jeff now."

He pulled back at the same time that Jeff opened the door to once again demand that he would leave the room. Newt agreed, and quickly was ushered out, the door slamming behind him.

"One things for sure," Jeff started, walking over to the side of my bed, eyeing the creases on the sheets. "He's much happier now then he was twenty minutes ago."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Sorry for the repost, I put the wrong one up (non-edited). This is the right one now.**

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**Hello there fellow Gladers, hope you enjoyed a week with me not updating. I've just moved, so haven't had time to write or edit or do anything. Too much partying!**

**I'm sorry for the filler chapter, it was just needed before the next few exciting ones. They should hopefully be coming up soon!**

**And, I've almost****finished Escape or Die! Two more chapters left and this story will be over.**

**There will be a sequel, and I will reveal the name of the book at a later date (possibly the next chapter).**

**Enjoy this**

**Comments appreciated!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four**

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_I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know? ~ Ernest Hemingway_

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Darkness fell shortly on the Glade after Jeff had kicked Newt out of the room. I felt a small amount of resentment towards the Med-jack, but that was quickly diminished when he produced a plate piled to the top with food. I delved into the pile of breads, scraps of meat, cheese and an apple. I hoped never to be that hungry again.

Alby screams continued to haunt the air for a long time after all the Gladers fell asleep, if they could. It seemed impossible to escape the terrible sound, even when I stuffed bandages into my ears, placed a pillow over my head and wished for someone to shut him up. Mean, I know, but I desperately needed the sleep, my body couldn't function with the possible danger lurking two doors down. After watching the Ben-kid go crazy with Thomas, I was afraid of would happen with Alby if my guard was let down.

There wasn't much I could do lying on the bed. I tried to ask about Thomas and Minho, but Jeff only silenced me explaining that I needed rest above anything else. All it was about with him was rest. Rest. Rest. Ergh.

The excitement of my escape had faded quickly, leaving the pain and thoughts of my new life in the Glade – nevertheless it won't be all that bad, Newt and some friendly faces were here.

Every muscle ached; cuts and bruises covered me from head to toe. But even that wasn't as bad as the heavy, emotional weight I'd been through the previous night. It seemed as if all the realities of living here had finally settled in my mind; it didn't seem to be all that bad.

How could they be happy stuck here in a life like this? I thought. Then, How could anyone be that evil to do this to a bunch of kids? I understood the desire the Gladers felt for finding their way out of the Maze. It was never about just a matter of escape, the desire to get revenge on these people responsible heightened for them sending them here and keeping my friends captive.

Thoughts like these only sent me back to a sense of hopelessness that started to fill me up from the time spent in the Maze. If the others hadn't been able to solve the puzzle of the Maze after two years of searching, it seemed impossible that there was ever a solution that could be found. The fact that the Gladers hadn't given up said more about these people than anything else.

And I was one of them.

This is my life, I thought. Living in a massive web, encircled by those creatures. Sorrow filled me like a thick venom. Alby's cries, muffled but still audible, only made it worse. I had to squeeze my hands over my stuffed ears to try and drown him out.

Lost to my own thoughts seemed to create questions that I needed answers to. My mind was too active to drift off to sleep; it was on high 'Red Alert' for the protection of myself. Jeff had instructed me to take some painkillers for the pain and to help sleep, but I yet had to pluck up the courage to swallow any. It was the fear that something would happen when I was fast asleep.

Alby screamed once more, his voice sounding coarse and strained from the continual stress of the Serum racing through his veins to try and cure him.

"No more."

I flung the pillow from my head, and picked up the small bottle that stood on the bedside table. Unscrewing the top of it off, I shook two white disk-shaped pills onto my hand. I reached over and grabbed the glass of water that also stood on the table, popping the disks into my mouth with a swig of water. I placed both items back onto the bedside table.

I settled myself down on the bed (after I had picked up the pillow flung onto the floor) and closed my eyes to let sleep take me. Maybe it was a good thing that I took those pills. After all the nightmares I have been experiencing, I don't think I was emotionally ready to experience the new ones from the Maze. Not just yet, anyway. So, I laid there, staring at the ceiling with my hand rested behind my head.

My mind still wandered through the endless questions it asked, lost in thoughts that bombarded it with every few steps. Yet, they seemed to ease out, my mind shutting down. Thank gods. I don't think I would have been able to last any longer without any sleep.

But, one thing did pop into my head as I felt the sleep take me; butterflies erupting at the bottom of my stomach.

He kissed you.

I know.

He really kissed you.

I was there.

And I lived the moment.

I started to ignore my mind after that, the consisted battering on from it. After a while, the thoughts started to fizzle out to blankness. Then, nothing.

* * *

I awoke to a hard jab to my shoulder, the pain sharp but dull. I snapped open my eyes and sat straight up, confused at first why I had been so rudely awakened. My hand immediately retracted itself to the wall, searching for any vines that it could grab onto. But, there weren't any. The wall feeling rough and splintery, then smooth and dusty.

Sense drained back into me, and I realised that I was no longer stuck out in the Maze, but inside lying on a crooked bed with a broken ankle.

Nothing could get me here.

A hard jab came again from my side, something sharp poking into my skin. I, again, snapped my head to the source, trying to find out what on earth was causing all this pain.

The room was dark, lit only by the small amount of light that illuminated in from the outside. Yet, a dark shadow loomed over my bed, close to my eye line.

I took in a short, sharp breath and opened my mouth to scream, before a hand clamped over my mouth and the light was flicked on.

My wide eyes delved into those of Gally's. The hateful-bitch.

I tried to scream again, shifting around on my bed to free myself. He only held on tighter, my breathing becoming limited.

"Shush," Gally hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. "Please."

I squirmed free from his hand, hitting him hard on the arm. In all my time here, I had never heard this boy plea. It did make me wonder.

"Try anythin' funny," I hissed back, "and I'll scream and hurt you."

Gally backed from the bed, knocking over something behind him. He tripped from the object and fell to the ground with a thud. He put his hands by his side, doing nothing for a few seconds in silence.

"Well, what do you want?" I asked, not attempting to hide my anger. "Didn't think you would get caught?"

"No!" Gally half-screeched. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth and waited in silence in case someone heard us. There was no commotion; the silence broken by Gally speaking again in a hushed voice. "Let me speak."

I eyed him for a second. The boy, who was a nightmare to be around, had his hands up in defence to think that I was actually going to hurt him. Silly bugger, didn't he think to use that small brain of his to think that I can't even get out of this bed without hurting myself. I repeated the same phrase again. "Fine, but try any funny business and I will scream. Ya got me?"

Gally nodded his head furiously, his hands lowering to reveal his disgusting face. He grabbed whatever had fallen on to the floor, lifting himself up to now tower over me. I liked it better when he was cowering on the floor; I felt more in power.

"What do you want?" I repeated, again. This was going to go in a circle.

"This." Gally motioned to the end of the bed, where there stood two tall objects. The top of them were of unusual shape, with what seemed like a bar that was fixed into position by two supporting rods. I couldn't see all the way down to the bottom, but by the angle of the rods it seemed likely that they met somewhere. Gally must have noticed my inquisitive nature, as he reached over and picked one up to show me the full extent of it. I was right; the rods did join nearer the bottom of it, where they seemed to be nailed to another longer bar.

"What are they?" I asked, dropping my sense of toughness to complete an utter confusion of what was happening.

"These are crutches of my own design," he said with a small smile. "Newt used them a long time ago, so when he asked to make you a pair, I just rejigged it about to fit your length."

"Impressive, but I don't understand is why you're givin' them to me now?"

Gally's smile lowered as he placed the crutch he was holding back with its conjoining partner. "I went to see if Alby was okay, and I thought that I would drop these off as well. Saves me from bringin' them tomorrow."

"Okay, but it could have waited until tomorrow. You know, when it's light." I told him, edging my hand nearer to the bowl that laid on the table beside my bed. "Why did you wake me?"

"I-I … You were … You seemed in pain," Gally stammered, wiping his hand across his nose. "I tried to wake you by sayin' your name, but it didn't work. So, I just prodded you until you did."

"In pain, how?"

"You kept mumblin' somethin'. 'I don't want to die', somethin' that a shuck-face like you would cry over."

And there you go, the arrogant-Gally was back for round two. For a second there, I actually thought I was seeing a different side to him, one that no one knew about. It seems that I was wrong. No one can ever change, and the living proof was Gally.

"Jeez, Gally, you really know how to spoil the moment, don't ya?"

"What did I say?" Gally asked, rising his shoulders up as if he was completely clueless about what happened.

"Get out," I gruffly said, edging my hand closer to the table next to me. "Get out before trouble starts."

"Yeah, was gonna go anyway, didn't want to hang round 'ere anymore lookin' at your shuck-face. I ain't the type to handle cry-babies." Gally huffed as he opened the door to let himself out. "I would have thought that a pretty girl like you would at least give me somethin' in return for wastin' my time at makin' those."

"Ergh," I retorted in horror. What an absolute joke!

Full of anger, I swiped the bowl that rested on the table and flung it where Gally stood. It missed him by inches, smashing by his head against the wall into thousands of pieces. I didn't have a cheap shot, but deep down I was not going to actually throw the bowl at his head, just scare him a bit. "Go see if a tree will let ya hug it, dickface."

And with that Gally stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. That is one way to wake up the whole Glade if you ask me, go round and banging everything that he sees to let out his frustration. Gods, and I thought that he was different round others, like he had two different types of personalities that was only shown depending on where exactly you caught him. You know what, I'm glad I struck him when I was having one of my nightmares. Deserves him right for being such a prick.

I still was absolutely exhausted and needed to get some sleep to fully recover.

Flattening my pillow out, I shuffled down the bed once more, resting my head so that I could see the door perfectly. If anyone was to enter, then I was sure as hell not going to miss it; not this time or any time. I laid there for a few minutes, counting the minutes passed since Gally had shown his vile face in this room.

My eyes gradually felt heavier under all the weight to stay open, stinging even if I left them open for a crack. Soon enough, they sealed shut while I drifted off to an endless sleep.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Hello there my fellow Gladers, how are we all doing? It is currently 1am in the morning and I finished this chapter for you all. How nice am I?**

**Hope you enjoy it, bit of a boring one (I know, I wrote it!)**

**Enjoy the end of the week, Friday is fun day!**

**Comments greatly appreciated (I love the emails when it pops up!)**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

**P.S. Before I leave you to read this chapter, I am officially announcing the name of the sequel to this book! That's right folks, we are going to see more of wonderful Clarke. I have yet to write a summary for this book, but it will be set within The Scorch Trials (with my own little twist). Once the summary has been written I will publish it. And now the name of the next sequel ...**_**The Assassins of the Sand**_**. It doesn't give too much away, but there is a major reason behind the name. I will leave now!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Five**

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_Nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'! ~ Audrey Hepburn_

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"This Gathering seems like a waste of time in my eyes," I grumbled to Jeff, as I ate as much as may mouth would hold.

"You'll be fine, Clarke. Just use that charm that seems to work on everyone." Jeff answered as he cleaned the mess that I had created last night with the bowl. I had completely forgotten about that event when morning came, and Jeff demanded why I made such a mess. "Your story still doesn't make sense, though."

"I told you, I thought I saw a bug." I innocently answered, batting my eyelashes to add some extra charm.

"Bug or no bug, there wasn't a need to throw the bowl."

"It was big!" I squealed, causing some bacon to fly off my plate and onto the floor. "Ah, look what you've made me done, perfectly good food wasted."

Jeff rolled his eyes at me, his body vibrating softly as he laughed. It hadn't been like this previous. When he first entered the room, there had been a very intense interrogation conducted by him asking about what on earth had gone on in the middle of the night – I simply answered yes, no or small grunts. After he plopped a plate of food that seemed to tower over me. Frypan must have gone all out on me to give me this much. There was bacon, scrambled eggs (lots of that), as well as toast and an apple. My stomach went mental. It did a backflip and a half when all that food flooded my nose receptors.

"Right," Jeff heaved, as he rolled back onto his heels. "All that cleared up."

He brushed the dirt of his trouser legs and picked up the tray that held all the broken bits of the bowl. Then, he placed the tray on the opposite bed carefully, making sure that none of it fell off.

"Did Gally bring these up?" he pointed at the pair of crutches that were leaned on the side of the bed.

"Yeah. Came in before you did with the food." I responded with a white lie. I stuffed more of the food into my mouth, making sure that it was full to the brim so I wouldn't have to answer any more questions.

"Strange," Jeff pondered, "I didn't see him enter the Homestead. You finished with that?"

I nodded, my mouth so full it would have burst like a volcano if I wasn't careful. Without disturbing the magma below my lips, I wiped away the crumbs that littered my face and lifted the plate towards Jeff.

"Am I your slave now?"

"Pretty much," I chirped, swallowing the last bits of food. He grabbed the plate from my grasp, and went to place it on top of the pile of broken mess.

"Whatever," he muttered, taking the tray with him as he left the room. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Listening to his footsteps drift from the hallway, I sat up from the bed and dangled my feet over the side. I leant back on my arms, thinking about what I would have to go through in the Gathering. With the quietness of the room, I heard Jeff struggle down the stairwell, a few grunts could be heard.

"You had to break, didn't you?" I sigh as I shifted my weight across the bed towards where the crutches had been propped up. I grabbed the nearest one, leaning it forward so that I could place it under my arm. Securely in place, I lifted myself up from the bed and leant on the crutch, testing to see that it could take my weight. Satisfied, I stretched my arm to grasp the other one and placed that under my other arm. I shifted my weight once again to cater for both supports. Now came the tricky part, trying to move with these things without falling over. With my left leg in the air, my right firmly planted on the ground, I moved the support forward so far, then swung my body to stand in a new position. _That wasn't so bad,_ I thought as I slowly moved around the room to get used to this new method of transport.

On about my eight round of the room, I heard the door creak open and someone slip in. I snapped my head to the door to find Newt standing there with a huge smile on his face.

"How are we today. my darlin'?" he asked as he took small steps towards me. I smiled at him, ducking my head from blushing to hard.

"No longer hungry," I laughed, trying (and failing) to hide my nervousness. "But still very much in pain."

"I can't do much about that. But, just take one look at this body and you'll be feelin' better in no time." My laughter intensified to the point that my sides started to hurt. While I had my laughing fit, Newt had crept up on me. He now stood at least twelve inches away, the warmth that radiated from his body brushing my chills. In a blink of an eye, Newt had hooked his arm around my waist and drawn me closer to his chest, making sure to take all the weight for me; I would have fallen from weak knees if he hadn't. He laid a small kiss onto my lips, the feeling buzzing through my veins. I smiled at the gesture, allowing the buzzing to reach down to the pain that swelled down below.

I lifted my hand to his face, brushing the strands of his hair away so that I could see his better. He took my hand and placed a kiss on the palm. I was enjoying whatever this was.

"Ready to go?" he finally spoke, still a hold of my hand and waist.

"No, it's a stupid idea." I muttered, resting my arms on his shoulders as I intertwined my fingers through his golden hair.

"Stupid! I called it."

"And? Do I still 'ave to go?"

"Yes!"

I huffed in response, shifting my weight around on the crutches to disperse the unpleasant feeling that ignited. The quick movements happening around me started to build up the pain even more, resulting in my face to cringle up when the sharp lightning rods returned. The effect of the painkillers were starting to wear off, the pain appearing for more trouble. I just couldn't put it to the back of my mind, there was no way I could ignore this.

"You're uncomfortable. 'ere let me help you." With a swoosh motion, I was hoisted up from the ground and landed straight into Newt's strong arms. I shrieked in amazement with being swept from my feet.

A wicked smile crept onto his face as I started to realise what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to protest, but was unable to get any words out when he spun on his heel and walked out of the room – me still in his arms.

Once sense flooded back into me, I complained the whole way down the staircase, through the Homestead and outside into the Glade. Nevertheless, I knew that it was no good. Even if I somehow managed to convince him to put me down, I couldn't get very far without my crutches. I lie, I could go somewhere, but that involves a very sore bum.

Outside, we passed a surprised Chuck, whose eyes were wide with confusion and fear. I called for him to find someone to help me, but Newt only laughed my pleas off, saying that I had a Gathering to get to.

"Chuckie, get the crutches instead," I shouted over Newt's shoulder as we closed in on the large wooden shack.

"I'm really not allowed up there," little Chuck called back, his scared face blooming from my outrageous comment.

"I say you can."

"You can't!" Newt yelled back, countering my argument.

"He can."

"Can't."

"Can!"

"It's against Greenie rules."

"He isn't one. So I abolish those rules."

"You can't."

"Just have. Chuck," I called, "Newt allows it."

Chuck gave a loud squeak, then ran towards the Homestead without even glancing once behind home it see if the he was told the truth. Newt looked down at me with a slight annoyance in his eyes. His lips curled into a tight scowl, detailing the harsh features into his soft face. He kept quiet for the remainder of the journey, not uttering one word to me as we entered the wooden shack that was guarded by the same boys as last time.

Once through the doorway, Newt crossed the room in double time and I found myself sitting in a chair, worried and anxious, facing the eleven boys that I had faced in my first Gathering. They were seated in chairs arranged in a semicircle around me and Thomas, who was another honouree guest at this meeting.

The room that we sat in was shaped like an arena of some sort. My first time here, I didn't quite take in the vastness of the place. That was because I was too whacked in the head from my problems and for only just waking up in a strange place. The floor was dusty, covered in ting grains of sand; the type that always finds a way into shoes. The ceiling was held up by various long, wooden poles that twisted in odd shapes. Leaves and vines made up the roof of the shack, allowing cascades of little sunshine to fall through the room, lighten up the dusty air that we all breathed in.

One chair directly in front of me stood empty – I knew all too well who sat there in these Gatherings. Beside the chairs sat no furniture, except for a small table situated in the corner. There were no windows; the room smelling of mould and old books. I wasn't cold, but I shivered all the same. I gave a nervous glance to Thomas, who seemed to just as scared as I was.

After placing me on my chair, Newt had taken his seat beside the vacant one and waited formerly for the Gathering to start.

"In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gatherin' begin," he said, with a subtle roll of his eyes as if he hated anything approaching formality. "As you all know, the last week and a bit 'ave been bloody crazy, and quite a bit of seems centred round our Greenbeans, Clarke and Tommy, seated before us."

I shifted nervously on my seat when all eyes fell upon us, no doubt Thomas was feeling the same way.

"There not Greenie's anymore," Gally said, his scratchy voice so low and cruel it was almost comical. "There just rule breakers now."

I almost lurched from my seat, ready to claw out Gally's eyes. Rule breaker my arse. I didn't choose to go into the Maze, they choose for me. Thomas grabbed a hold of my arm and squeezed it until the skin turned a deathly pale, silently (and painfully) reassuring me that it probably wasn't the best idea if I tried to go all attack mode on him. Instead, I shot icy glares towards Gally – it would have to do.

A rumble of murmurs and whispers circulated the room, but Newt shushed them all. A small lump formed in the back of my throat. I no longer wanted to be in this room.

"Gally," Newt said, "tryin' to keep some buggin' order here. If you gonna blabber with you're shuckin' mouth every time I say somethin', you can go ahead and bloody well leave."

Gally folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, the scowl on his face so forced it would have stuck like that if the wind changed direction.

Newt gave him a shard stare (one that did not beat mine), then continued. "Glad we got that out of the way." Another roll of his eyes. "Reason we are 'ere is because almost every lovin' kid in the Glade has come up to me in the last day or two either boohooing about Thomas or beggin' to take his hand in marriage. We're not gonna talk about what they had to say about Clarke. We need to decide what we gonna do with him. As a matter of fact, we need to decide what to do with both of them. Seeing as Clarke survived, somehow."

Gally leaned forward, but Newt cut him off before he could say anything.

"You'll have your chance, Gally. First we have Clarke's story on how she survived, seein' as you weren't with Minho or Thomas in the Maze. Am I right?"

"Yep," Minho replied.

"Good that. Proceed." Newt motioned for me to explain my story of how miraculously survived a night in the Maze when no one else was able.

I paused for a moment, delegating which truths I should emphasis and which lies I should create towards them. This story would have to make sense, but not sound so unrealistic that they would catch on to my lies. I knew instantly that the screwdriver would not be mentioned, neither the conversations that I had with the Creators. The story that I would create would have to sound so real that I ended up believing it myself by the end of it.

"So … erm … I was dragged into the Maze by some weird metal chain, that pulled me back so far that I would never have made it back in tim–"

"Why were you by the Maze?" Gally interrupted me, a sly grin across his face, his arms crossed.

"Gally, shut your hole and let her continue." Newt barked, with an irritated tone.

I took this as my cue and continued with my elaborate story of how I survive the Maze for the night. I described, to the Keepers in front of me, how I scaled a wall to hide from the approaching Griever that started to chase me through the corridors after I found myself in a dead end. I explained to them how, when the Griever started to climb the wall, it knew exactly where I was placed and that it shredded its way up the side towards my entangled body.

I mentioned my elaborate escape plan, where I swung like a monkey through the vines. To make it more believable, I twisted the events of what actually happened only a few hours ago. Instead of slipping and falling from the vine immediately, I told them I had lead the Griever into it entangling itself with the vines.

"That was the plan," I said. I went on to mention how I judged the fall of the Griever accurately, but managed to overdo mine. When the creature jumped from the wall, it caught itself within a viney-web. I, on the other hand, had fallen straight through it and was unable to grab the vine intended to stop me from falling to the ground. Thus, broken ankle.

The makeshift cast was quickly made with the surrounding vines that covered the floor and me. It seemed impossible to do, but to them I had done exactly that.

I paused for a moment, trying to recollect the events that would have happened next. By this point in the real story, the Griever had already died and I was making a far better cast round my leg then what I had told them.

"The creature was thrashing round quite a bit, trying with everythin' it had to skewer me with one of its long arms. Thankfully, I was out of its reach. The arms were sharp, I mean, real sharp. Like they could just poke into your skin without any trouble. But, it seemed to be fragile if bent the wrong way. I grabbed one of them and held on with dear life (this is all before the cast). It gave quite a beating, but eventually I was able to somehow twist it and stick it within its belly. I used the legs as supports for my cast once I pryed them of it. After that everythin' gets a bit hazy, but I remember the pain."

The group of Keepers that surrounded me all stared back with faces of confusion. Either they did believe me or they didn't – it was hard to tell.

The room remained quiet for a few moments as they all digested the story within their minds. Some had a look of disbelief crinkling their faces, the story not quite sitting right within them. To tell the truth, I didn't believe the story myself. Not one tiny bit.

"That was … interesting," Newt finally muttered, speaking for all of us. He stared at me for a moment, trying to think of words to say next. "Well … erm … we've heard the _story_, now we start. One at a time. And Tommy, Clarke, not a buggin' word until we ask you. Good that?" He waited for a nod from both of us, then pointed to the Keeper of the Gardens on the far right. "Zart the Fart, you start."

There were a few snickers as Zart shifted in his seat. The last time I had seen him was when I apologised for my small outburst, which ended up him gaining a small broken nose. Oops.

"Well," Zart began, his eyes darting around the room as if he was expecting someone else to tell him what to say. "I don't know. They both broke one of our most important rules. People just can't go round doing that." He paused and rubbed his nose, wincing from the reaction. "But then again, things have changed. We know we can survive out there and that the Grievers can be beaten in some way."

Relief flooded over me. I was glad that Zart hadn't used the broken nose against me and at least supported mine and Thomas's side.

"Oh, give me a break," Gally spurted. "I bet Minho's the one who actually got rid of the stupid things. And Clarke's story, I bet she's lyin'!"

"Gally, shut your hole!" Newt yelled, standing effect this time. "I'm the bloody chair right now, and if I hear one more buggin' word out of turn from you, I'll be arranging a Banishing for your sorry arse."

"Please," Gally whispered sarcastically, the famous ridiculous scowl returning as he slouched back into his chair again.

Newt sat back down and motioned to Zart. "That's it? Official recommendations?"

Zart shook his head.

"Okay, You're next, Frypan."

The cook smiled through his beard and sat up straighter. "Got a pair of guts them two, more than all the pigs and cows I've fried up in the last year." He paused, as if he expected a few laughs, but nothing came. "Why are we doing this – he saves Alby's life, and she survived a night with a broken ankle, both killin' a couple of Grievers between them. And what are we doin', yappin' between us what to do with them. As Chuck would say, this is a pile of klunk."

More relief flooded my system with what the cook spoke. At least there was someone else on my side that seemed to at least understand the situation. I made a mental promise to myself to be an extra bit nicer to him.

"So what're ya recommendin'?" Newt asked.

Frypan folded his arms. "Put them on the freakin' Council and 'ave them train us on what they did out there to survive."

Voices erupted from every direction, and it took Newt half a minute to calm everyone down. I cringed slightly from Frypan's recommendation, he had gone too far and it wouldn't work.

"Shouldn't have said that," I whispered to myself and in earshot of Thomas. He arched his head slightly and nodded, he too agreed with my statement.

"All right, writin' her down," Newt said, pulling Thomas away from his confused state. I watched as Newt scribbled down on a small notepad what was said, possible for future reference. "Now everyone keep their bloody mouths shut, I mean shut it. You know the rules – no idea's unacceptable – and you'll all have your say when we vote on it." He finished writing and pointed to the third member of the Council, a boy I had seen around the Glade but hadn't had a chance to meet yet. He was a kid with black hair and a freckly face, strong build and broad shoulders. "Stan, speak."

"I don't really have an opinion," Stan said.

"What?" Newt asked, his voice full of anger. "Lot of good it did to choose you for the Council, then."

"Sorry, I honestly don't." He shrugged. "If anything, I agree with Frypan. There seems to be no fault. Why punish someone for saving someone's life? And what else, they both apparently killed Grievers, isn't that enough?"

"So, you do have an opinion – is that it?" 'Newt insisted, pencil in hand.

Stan nodded and Newt scribbled down a note, mumbling a few words to himself as he did this. I had a feeling of slight relieve, but not enough to be fully satisfied – it seemed like most of the Keepers were for Thomas and I, but there were still some Keepers to go through.

Still, I was having a hard time just sitting there; I wanted to speak on my own behalf, establish my white lie was the truth. Make the point that I hadn't just gone into the Maze on purpose, WICKED intended me too. But I forced myself to hold back my tongue and follow Newt's instructions.

Next was acne-covered Winston, the Keeper of the Blood House. "I think they should be punished. No offense, but Newt, you're the one harping on about _order_. If we don't punish, we'll set a bad example. They both broke Number One rule."

"Hey, hey, that's not fair. I didn't enter on my own terms!" I yelled, breaking Newt's rule of keeping quiet.

A deadly look was thrown my way be most of the Keepers, the dirtiest from Gally. Newt's face pinched together as if he was about to explode. "Clarke, no talkin'," he said gruffly, his temper seemingly rising. What is his problem?

Running his hand through his hair, Newt motioned for Winston to carry on. "Recommendations?"

"Fine, I believe you Clarke, I saw it. But, you broke a rule, so I think the Slammer for both of them. One week with only bread and water – and we need to make sure everyone knows about it so they don't get any ideas."

Gally clapped, earning a scowl from Newt. I felt my heart drop a bit.

Two more Keepers spoke, one for Frypan's idea, one for Winston's. Then it was Newt's turn. I eyed him carefully to see what he would say. By this point, I had figured out the source of the bad temper. He was trying to keep order within the Glade; overriding his command may have pissed him off only slightly.

"I'm saving my recommendation until the end. Next." Newt didn't look up from his notebook, only scribbled some more.

Down the line of chairs they went. Some thought that we should have been praised, others thought the complete opposite. Or both. I lost the ability to distinguish between which arguments were being made by each of the Keepers. But, I was able to anticipate the comments that would come from the last two Keepers, Gally and Minho. The latter hadn't spoken a word since the beginning of the Gathering; he just sat there, drooped in his chair, looking like he hadn't slept in a week.

Gally went first. "I think I've made my opinions pretty clear already."

_Good,_ I thought. _Now just keep that, what-you-call-a-mouth-shut, and all will be good._

"Good that," Newt said with a roll of his eyes. I couldn't help but smirk at this little gesture. "Go on, then, Minho."

"No!" Gally shrieked, making a couple of Keepers jump from their seats. "I still wanna say somethin'."

"Then bloody say it," Newt replied. It was quite clear at this moment that I wasn't alone in my dislike towards that guy, even Newt radiated with it.

"Just think about it," Gally begun. "She comes up the Box, a week before this slinthead, actin' all confused and scared, with blood everywhere. Let's not forget a week before normal Greenie time. She acts all crazy every time somethin' happens around her. Runnin' off into the trees, barricading doors, havin' screamin' fits when she sleeps. That ain't right. Then, he turns up, actin' the same as her and seemingly them two hang round each other, doin' everythin' together. A few days later, they're both runnin' around the Maze with Grievers, actin' like they own the place."

Thomas shrank in his chair next to me, while I squeezed my hands together until they turned white with rage. I was absolutely furious with that kid. Any more of that crap and I would hurt him, stuff my morals and the rules.

Gally continued with his rant. "I think it was all an act. How could it be done with only bein' 'ere for about two weeks and little experience with anything? I ain't buyin' it."

"What you tryin' to say, Gally?" Newt asked. "How 'bout havin' a bloody point?"

"I think they're spies from the Creators."

Another uproar exploded within the room; there was nothing to be done – how on earth did Gall come up with such a ludicrous idea in the first place? Newt finally calmed everyone down again, but Gally was still not finished.

"There's no way we can trust them," he continued. "Day after he shows up, another shank turns up, sproutin' off that she's bad, clutching that freaky note–"

There was a sharp snap from behind me, where I had completely forgotten about my hand crushing the living daylights out of the chair support (my fingers had started to hurt, so I had moved onto breaking something else). I pulled my hand free from behind my back, clutching the weak wooden support in my grasp. All eyes were now on me.

"Carry on," I said with a smile, allowing Gally to return to his stupid rant. I placed the wood on top of my lap, ready to use if needed.

"We find a dead Griever. They both conveniently find themselves in the Maze for the night, then they both come back, and he tries to convince everyone that he is the hero of the day – saving everyone. Well, no one saw what he did in the Maze, and definitely no one saw what she did. How do we know she's even tellin' the truth?"

Gally paused; no one said a word for several seconds and panic rose up in my chest. Could they actually believe what Gally was saying? I was anxious to defend myself and was ready to break the rule again – but before I could get a word in, Gally was up and talking again.

"There's too many weird things goin' on, and it all started when she turned up. And it just so happens she is also one of the first people to survive a night in the Maze. Somethin' ain't right, and until we figure it out, I officially recommend that we lock them both in the Slammer for a month, confiscate her bag, and then have another review."

I have no idea what came over me, it seemed that I just reacted to what was said. I had grabbed the piece of wood that laid on my lap and flung it at Gally. It hit him square in the face, clattering to the ground. Everyone was too stunned to do anything about it, let alone allow a sound from their mouths. I shrunk back in my chair, wanting the earth to swallow me whole right there and then. Why in hell did I have to do that? One pair of eyes shown out the brightest in that room, and they were threatening to burn a whole in my chest.

Gally's face turned bright colour of red as his fists balled together in fury. He stood up from his chair so fast that he knocked it over and stormed over to me, ready to throw a punch my way. Before he could get any further, a few of the nearest Keepers had jumped from their spots, rushing towards Gally before he could start anything drastic. He screeched out in frustration as two of the Keepers hooked his arms behind his back, leading him back to his seat.

"I'll give ya one chance Gally. Don't do that again." Newt glared at him, pointing his pencil straight at him. "Now, you done, Captain Gally?"

Angrily placed back onto the chair. Gally shot a deadly look my way. "Quit being such a smart aleck, Newt," he spat, his face going redder then before. "I'm dead serious. Stop tryin' protect her, you saw what she did. That's bBanishment right there. Quit voting me down before you even _think_ about what I'm saying."

"Fine, Gally," Newt said, still glaring at him. "I'm sorry. We heard you, and we'll all consider your bloody recommendation. Are you done?"

"Yes, I'm done. And I'm_ right_."

With no more words for Gally. Newt pointed at Minho to speak.

Out of all the Keepers that had spoken, I was intrigue to hear what this one had to say. I had no witnesses to what occurred in the Maze, no one knew what really happened out there. All I was riding on was a sense of hopefulness that Minho would at least be kind in his words.

Beside me, Thomas perked up a bit at the mention of the Keeper that was now in turn to speak. Unlike me, Minho and Thomas were both together when they entered the Maze, giving his recommendation a larger stance then mine. But, who was to say what would come out of that mouth.

Minho stood up quickly, taking everyone off guard. "I'm gonna keep this short and snappy. No long winded rants, like Gally's 'ere. I was out there; I saw what this guy did – he stayed strong while I turned into a panty-wearin' chicken. As for Clarke, we only found her in the midst of her tryin' to make her way back. Believe me, for someone being entirely alone in the Maze, she held up well. My recommendation more for Tom 'ere."

"Good that," Newt said, "Tell us, then."

Minho looked at Thomas. "I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Happy Halloween fellow Gladers! Enjoy the day and don't eat too many sweets. Just kidding, eat as many as you want, destroy your teeth! **

**Another chapter with a bit of excitement in it. Hope you all enjoy this one!**

**Comments greatly appreciated, just leave a little note to say how much you are loving the story, or not.**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six**

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_Enemies are never a problem. It's your friends you have to watch out for. ~ Me/Ashildr_

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Silence engulfed the room, only the breathing from the Keepers could be heard and the noises from the working Gladers outside. Every member of the council stared at Minho, completely and utterly stunned. Had I heard him correctly? Did he suggest the most insane thing ever? We all there sat there, not really sure if the Runner would suddenly say that he had been joking.

Gally finally broke the silence, standing up. "This is rubbish!" He faced Newt and pointed back at Minho, who had taken his seat again. "He should be kicked off the Council for sayin' somethin' so stupid."

Some Keepers nodded their heads in agreement with Minho's recommendation – like Frypan, who clapped loudly to drown out Gally, who clamoured to take a vote. Winston shook his head adamantly, mumbling something that I wasn't able to catch. Then, everyone started to talk all at once, each getting louder and louder with every passing moment.

I glanced to the side to see Thomas's head in his hands, shaking his head slightly. He was like that for a moment before he peeked up from the tips of his fingers, a sense of longing to be elsewhere in his eyes. I felt sorry for him; at the current moment, all the attention focused mainly on him. And, he wasn't enjoying it one bit. I placed a reassuring hand onto his shoulder, so that he knew that there at least was someone here that didn't have a reason to go against him. He didn't look at me, but a small smile did appear on his face.

We waited for a moment, but the noise only grew louder and louder as each Council member's argument intensified to the point where it seemed almost frightening. Anyone one of them could snap and the whole thing end up in disaster.

Finally, Newt put his notepad down and stepped out from the semicircle, screaming at people to shut up. His yells didn't seem to be working. Everyone talked louder to even recognise his attempts. Poor thing. Newt's face reddened with trying to keep order.

Without even thinking about it, I put my fingers to my lips and gave a high-pitched whistle that sliced the air. Everyone fell silent and turned to face me.

"Listen to … er … Newt. Erm … yeah," I mumbled as I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Newt mouthed a 'thank you' in my direction before he carried on.

"Right. Now that we are all quiet, we can carry on." Newt waited for everyone to retake their seats. "I have never seen so many shanks actin' like teat-suckin' babies. We may not look it, but around these parts, we're the adults. Now act like it, or this Council gets disbanded and we start from scratch."

He walked from end to end of the curved row of sitting Keepers, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke. "Are we clear?"

A silence haunted the air around us. For a moment, I expected an outburst, but was surprised when everyone nodded with consent, even Gally.

"Good that." Newt ran a hand through his hair, gave a long sigh and walked back to his chair, placing his pad back onto his lap. He scribbled out the last part that been written, he looked back at Minho. "That's some serious klunk, man. Sorry, but ya need to made a good cause before you put somethin' like that forward."

All eyes turned to seek the information that they wanted from Minho. He looked exhausted, but started to defend his proposal about Thomas. "It's easy for you shanks to sit here and talk about somethin' you think you know. I'm the _only_ Runner in the group, and the only other person that has been in the Maze is Newt."

"Not if you count the time–" Gally interjected.

"I don't!" Minho shouted. "And believe me, no one else does. You or nobody else has the slightest clue what it is actually like to be out there. The only reason that you were stung was because you broke the same rule that you blame Clarke and Thomas for. That is _hypocrisy_ shuck–"

"Enough," Newt interrupted. "Defend your purpose and be finished."

The tension spliced the air, it morphing into glass that had the possibility of shattering at any moment within the room. Both Gally and Minho's red skins of their faces looked like they were about to burst, but they broke their stare after a second.

"Anyway, listen," Minho continued, sitting back into his seat heavily. "I've never seen anythin' like it before. He didn't panic. Didn't even whine, never seemed scared at all. Dude, he'd been here for what? A few days. Think about what we were all like in the beginnin'. Huddlin' in corners, disoriented, cryin' every hour, not trusitn' anybody, refusing to do anythin'. We were all like that, for weeks or months, till we had no choice but to shuck it and live. Shuck it, they're both like it."

Minho stood back up and pointed his fingers in our direction. "Few days ago this shank had just stepped into the Glade, probably scared senseless from everythin' around. The he steps out in the Maze, after he has only just shown up, to save two shanks that he barely even knows. All this klunk about him breakin' a rule is beyond stupid. Heck, I doubt he even understands the rules yet. But, I bet plenty of people have told him what it's like in the Maze, especially when the doors close. And yet he still stepped other there to help one of our won, the only person to care about aid of two people." He took a deep breath, gaining more strength each time that he spoke.

"But, that's not even the beginnin'. After he saw me give up on Alby, leave him for the dead, he took the matter into his own hands. I was the veteran – the one with all the experience and the knowledge. So, when Tommy here saw me do that, he was the last likely person to question my judgement. But, he did. And by questionin' it, he was able to save Alby from a horrible death. Think about all that willpower and strength that it must have taken to push Alby up that wall. It's freakin' crazy.

"That isn't even the end of it. The Grievers came, as they do, and I told Thomas to split up. I used the practised evasive manoeuvres, running in patterns, while Thomas instead took control and defied the laws of physics to get Alby up that wall. He then, somehow, managed to divert the Grievers away from him, beat one off, found–"

"We get the point," Gally snapped. "Tommy here is a lucky shank."

Minho rounded on him. "No, you worthless shuck, you don't get it! I've been here two years and have never seen anythin' like it before. For you to say anythin' …" Minho paused, rubbing his eyes, letting out a groan in frustration.

Everyone had been stunned silent. A few of the Keepers mouths had dropped wide open in their surprise, there emotions about this ordeal scattered. All were taking sides, and all were trying to understand who had the upper hand. It was all like one big betting game. I bet the WICKED staff were taking wagers right now to see who would win the argument. They had eyes everywhere in this place, probably ears as well.

"Gally," Minho continued in a calmer voice, "your points are only valid when you have experienced the Maze. You've never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out, so how do you know what you're talkin' about. You're nothin' but a sissy, so shut your mouth."

In another dimension, I would have agreed with all the words the sprouted from the Keeper of the Runners mouth. But not in this one. Even if that kid could be rude, obnoxious, spiteful and weird. By having a bunch of people gang up on another, it does make you feel sorry for them.

Gally was not liked in the Glade, anyone could sense that from a mile off, submerged ten foot underwater. But, does anyone deserve that much hate? Yeah, probably did, seeing as he acted creepy whenever his body-of-a-planet circulated my sun. Then again, this whole Gathering seemed too pitted highly against him, some slack does have to be cut. After all, Gally did spend time crafting the crutches when he probably didn't have to.

Gally stood up again, fuming. "Say one more thing like that and I'll personally break your neck, right here in front of everybody." Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke his threat.

Minho only returned a laugh, his head knocking back in a wild frenzy. Then, he raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. I watched in horror as the Glader crashed down onto his chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gally sprawled across the floor, before he scrambled to stand back up on two feet, struggling to get his hands and feet under him. Minho stepped closer and grabbed a fistful of Gally's shirt, pulling him up until their noses almost touched. His free hand crumpled into a fist and raised in the air, ready to strike.

No one was going to stop this.

"Hey!" I yelled, unaware that my mouth dared to speak before I even gave it permission. All eyes fell onto me. "Stop this right now! Do you hear me? Stop it!"

Everyone halted in their place. I stood for effect.

"You are all actin' like children. Hear that, children. Not what you claim to be, adults. Children only do this, threaten each other, throw tantrums, screech, whine. That's why I see no bloody adults runnin' this place, cause none of you act like one. Whatever your tryin' to achieve 'ere in this Gatherin' ain't gonna work without at least a bit of order. For Christ sake, eventually ya'll tear this place apart if you don't work together. All of you.

"Goin' round threatenin' people ain't the way to live in an ordered place, especially the circumstances that we have found ourselves in. Yeah okay, some rules were broken. But come on, what did we learn from it? We can survive a night in the Maze. Whatever you've been tryin' figure for the past two years is close to bein' cracked. I'm sure of it. Argue over that, not who has the most power. It ain't gonna get us nowhere.

"Punish us if you have to, if that will satisfy the needs of the few. But, for cryin' out loud, will you at least grow up!"

It was as if the world had frozen into place. After a second of the piercing silence engulfing the room, Gally shoved Minho off him and backed away, his face a mask of rage. He made no move towards Minho, just stood there with his chest out, heaving ragged breaths. Finally, Gally backed away, half stumbling towards the exit behind him. His eyes darted around the room, lit with burning hatred.

"I don't need anyone standin' up for me, especially you," Gally spat in my direction.

"Oh, so do you want to be bloody and broken on the floor?" I retorted, letting the anger take over. I leant further on my good leg, I was going to need the extra strength. "You're pathetic if you think that. As a matter of fact, I think Minho hasn't really laid a hand on you cause of me talkin'. Suck it up mate, sometimes even the manliest boy needs savin'."

Gally seethed with hatred, his shoulder vibrating madly as he took steps forward. "You think that cause you're the only girl here you think that you hold some power over this part. Well, guess what sister, you're very much wrong. That head of yours needs to be screwed on more, cause you ain't seein' the world straight."

"Excuse me," I yelled back. "My head not screwed on properly. Look round you, Gally. None of us really have them on. If we did, then I would know who I was and why I fought my way to get in here. Don't make me regret what I said."

"Fought?" Gally laughed, as he got dangerously close to where I stood. "I doubt you even know the term, girlie."

"You want to fuckin' find out?" I hissed, anger seeping out of me as well. This was a side I had yet to discover about me. It was a darker Clarke that only came out once every blue moon, and she was a version of myself that was not to be messed with.

If Newt and Winston hadn't leapt from their seats to hook Gally's arms and pull him away, a real fight would have happened. No matter that I was broken. Gally was itching for a battle, and he wanted one so badly.

Both pulled him away from me, half-dragging him to the exit behind. Upon realisation, Gally shoved the two boys away from him and back up towards the door on his own accord. He reached out and grabbed for the handle.

"Things are different now," he said, spitting on the floor. "You shouldn't have done that, Clarke. You should not have done that." His maniacal glare shifted to Newt. "I know you hate me, that you've always hated me. You should be Banished for your embarrassin' inability to lead this group. You're shameful, and any one of you who stays here is no better. Things are going to change. This, I promise.

"That bitch there," he said, pointing directly at me. "Is the cause of all the probl–"

He didn't quite get to finish his sentence. And he never would, for I had flown in a fit of anger (ignoring the blistering pain) towards him and thrown a hard punch to his face. The result, blood pouring out of his nose and a shattered pride.

It felt good, the adrenaline, the moment, the actual connection. Afterwards, not so much. My hand fired up in agony, the skin puffing. To be honest, it didn't hurt as bad as the ankle. But, so worth it.

"Call me that one more time, and you'll be wishin' for a wall between us," I hissed, daring him to do it.

Gally's eyes shone with anger, but instead of attacking me, he yanked the door open and stepped outside. Before he drifted away back into the naïve Glade, he glared past me, not even looking directly into my eye line, at Thomas. "And you," he hissed, his mouth spitting out blood, "the Greenbean who thinks he's friggin' God. Don't forget I've seen you before – I've been through the Changin'. What these guys decide doesn't mean jack."

He paused, looking at each person in the room. When his malicious stare fell back onto Thomas, he had one last thing to say. "Whatever you came here for – I swear on my life I'm gonna stop it. Kill you if I have to."

Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. What a total drama queen.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Hello there fellow Gladers, another chapter in a matter of three days. Oh I am spoiling you lot. This was just a treat from me to you because I have just officially finished the book! Yes that's right, 'Escape or Die' has been completed. I've been excited for days for this moment. Nearly a whole year has been spent on this story, and it's been worth every second. I won't write anymore, I'll leave that for the final message.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**All comments are very much enjoyed and read. Thank you to those that comment. It brightens up my day!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

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_You know, the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common: they don't alter their views to fit the facts; they alter the facts to fit their views. ~ Doctor Who_

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I gulped from the pain that welled up inside me. The quick burst of adrenaline leaving my system, pushed out by reality. All that running, all that energy, it was hard. But, results pay off.

The Council members stood or sat in silence, all shocked at what they had just witnessed right in front of their very eyes. I let my hand reach out and grab Newt's arm, worried that if I hadn't I would have fallen to the ground. He took it and guided me back to the chair as best he could.

"That felt good," I mumbled to him, making sure that only his ears could hear it.

"I bet it did," Newt murmured back. "Don't do it again. And keep quiet."

He helped me back onto my chair, then sullenly walked to his and sat down, placing the notebook onto his lap.

Thomas, beside me, sat frozen in his chair, not really moving, not really doing very much. Gally's words must have got to him; to be threatened like that would disturb anyone, especially in a place so unusual as the one that we all found ourselves in.

"He's finally whacked for good," Minho said in almost a whisper.

"Well, you're not the bloody saint of the room," Newt said. "What were you thinkin'? That was a little overboard, don't ya think?"

Minho squinted his eyes and pulled his head back, as if he were baffled by Newt's question.

"Don't give me that garbage. Every one of you loved seein' that slinthead get his dues, and you know it. It's about time people started to challenge his klunk."

"He's on the Council for a reason," Newt said.

"Dude, he threatened to break my neck, fight Clarke and kill Thomas! The guy is mentally whacked if you tell me. You better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer, he's dangerous."

"Maybe he had a good point," Winston said, almost too quietly.

"What?" Minho asked, his voice raising into a shout.

Winston looked surprised at the acknowledgement that words had come from his mouth. His eyes darted around the room before he explained his point. "Well … he has been through the Changin' – one of those things stung him in the middle of the day just outside the West Door. Meanin' that he does have some memories, and he said the Greenie looked familiar. Why would he make that up?"

The Changing, that horrible process that somehow bought memories back. A very painful experience that had the person screaming until they were black and blue all over. Would anyone be stupid enough to willing go through that experience. I certainly would not, I have enough pain to last a lifetime. I didn't need anymore. Besides, I had no idea what would come back.

"Winston, did you see what just happened?" Frypan asked, looking sceptical. "Gally's psycho. You can't put too much stock in his ramblin' nonsense. What, you think Thomas here is a Griever in disguise?"

Thomas huffed beside me, straining against his willpower to blurt out words to try and defend himself. Unlike me, he had stuck to the Council rules and hadn't spoken. Eh, what can I say, I was a rule breaker.

"Can I say something now," he finally blurted out, the frustration in his voice raising the volume of it. "I'm sick of you guys talking about me like I'm not here."

Newt glanced up at him and nodded. "Go ahead. This bloody meetin' can't be much more screwed up."

"I don't know why Gally hates me. I don't care. He seems psychotic to me. As for who I really am, you all know just as much as I do. But if I remember correctly, we're here because of what I did out in the Maze, not because some idiot thinks I'm evil."

Someone snickered but was swift to quieten when I shot a death glare. Thomas fell silent beside me.

Newt nodded, clearly satisfied by this speech. "Good that, let's get this meetin' wrapped up so that we can deal with Gally."

"We can't vote without all the members here," Winston insisted. "Unless they're really sick, like Alby."

"For the love, Winston," Newt replied. "I'd say Gally's a wee bit ill today, so we continue without him. Thomas you go first and defend your case. Then Clarke. Once she's done, we'll take a vote on what situation we'll take."

Thomas released his hands that were squeezed up into fists on his lap. He relaxed them, wiping his palms over his trouser legs. Then he began to speak.

"I didn't do anything wrong. All I saw were two people struggling to get inside these walls and they couldn't make it. To ignore that because of some stupid rule seemed selfish, cowardly, and … well, stupid. If you want to throw me in jail for trying to save someone's life, then go ahead. Next time I promise I'll point at them and laugh, then go eat some of Frypan's dinner."

I doubt Thomas was trying to be funny with his case. His words sounded more like they were hurt for being put on trial for saving life.

"Clarke, you're up," Newt flicked his pen towards me without looking up.

"I went into the Maze not on my own accord." I stated, crossing my arms over my chest.

There was a brief silence, the Keepers expecting me to carry on.

"Anything else?" Newt asked, his pen hovering over the pad.

"Nothing else," I answered.

"Clarke, you can't expect us to make a judgement on that if you don't say much."

"Fine," I huffed. I paused for a moment to recollect some thoughts that would somehow make up a plausible case. "I did not go into the Maze of my own accord because I know not to go into the Maze. However, the Maze had other ideas, so it wanted me in there. Good enough?"

"Not even close," a mumbled response was heard. "Try again."

"Why?" I cried. "What help will it give? You're gonna punish us either way."

"You're treadin' on a fine line, Clarke." Newt spoke, his words more haunting as he never raised a word. "If you ain't gonna cooperate, then we move onto the recommendations

"Both broke the Number One Rule, so both get one day in the Slammer. That's the punishment. I also elect Thomas as a Runner, effective the second this meeting's over. You've proven more in one night than most trainees do in weeks. As for you being the buggin' Keeper, forget it." He looked over at Minho. "Gally was right on that count—stupid idea.

"With Clarke, seeing as she has been in the Maze, she can help with the maps, findin' a way out, best I can think of. If her ankle heals, and that's a big _if_, then we can also consider her for the position as a Runner. We can discuss that at a later date."

Me. Considered as a Runner. Where in the hell did that come from? I didn't disagree with the idea, helping around with the maps may give me something to do instead of sitting around all day doing nothing. I looked to Minho to see his reaction at Newt's recommendation.

The Keeper didn't seem surprised, but argued all the same. "Why? He's the best we have – I swear it. The best should be the Keeper."

"Fine," Newt responded. "If that's true, we'll make the change later. Give it a month and see if he proves himself."

Minho shrugged. "Good that."

I heard Thomas next to me sigh in relief. At times through this meeting, it felt like he wasn't there at all. He was so quiet throughout, not even peeping a word right until the end, unlike me.

Newt glanced around the room. "Okay, we had several recommendations, so let's give it a go-round–"

"Oh, come on," Frypan interrupted. "Stop yappin' and just vote. I vote for yours."

"Me too," Minho chimed in.

Everyone else said their approval, filling me with relief that at least there were some people in this place that at least liked us. Winston was the only one that said no. I won't hold it against him, for the time being.

Newt glimpsed at him. "We don't need your vote, but tell us what is nibblin' away at your brain."

Winston looked uneasily towards us before he answered. "I'm all for your recommendation, but we shouldn't totally ignore what Gally said. Somethin' about it – I just don't think he would make it up. And it's true, ever since Clarke has turned up, everything's being goin' screwy."

"Fair enough." Newt nodded in agreement. "Everyone put some thought into it – we'll have another Gatherin' when Clarke is all better and talk about that then. Good that?"

Winston nodded.

"Right," Newt said. "Your punishment starts tomorrow. Wake-up till sunset. Cliff, she alright bein' out of your hands for a day?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine." Clint responded, not even looking at me. Traitor.

The meeting was dismissed quickly after that and everyone filed out of the room except for Minho, Newt, and of course Thomas and I. Newt hadn't moved from his chair, where he was jotting down that last bits of notes. "Well, that was good times," he murmured to himself.

Minho walked over to us and playfully punched Thomas on the arm. "It's all these shanks fault."

Thomas punched him back. "Keeper? You want me to be Keeper? Have you got your head screwed on?"

"Screwed on?" Minho laughed. "You're soundin' like Clarke and Gally now. Which reminds me, nice punch."

"Thanks," I cheerily said, happy that someone did see the brighter side of what happened.

"And that outburst, didn't think that you had that in you. Jeez, I was scared that somethin' else was gonna to happen." Minho said, chuckling away.

"Come of it, Minho," Newt said, standing up from his chair. "She wasn't supposed to speak in any of this."

"Your girlfriend has spirit, mate." Minho said with a wicked grin. "Don't forget that."

"_Girlfriend?_" I shrieked, blushing madly. "Wh-why do you think that?"

"You see, my dear Clarke," Minho said, his hands spreading out in a dramatic poise. "The two of you never seem to be too far away from each other. One as it the kitchens, the other is by the Homestead. You unconscious, him waiting for you to wake up. Have you ever seen anyone else every time you wake up?"

"No," I mumbled, my face reddening to the colour of a tomato.

"My point." He grinned. "Believe me, there is somethin' goin' on between you two. And the way you kept glancin' at one another … did anythin', you know, intimate between you. Newt, do we have to have the talk?"

Our cries of disgust caused Thomas to jump in surprise beside us. He listened wide eyed as he tried to comprehend what was going on.

"Minho, that's gross man."

"What do you take me for?"

"Where in the heck did you get that idea from?"

"Get that dirty stuff outta your head!"

Minho only laughed at us, clutching his sides as he tried to keep his composure. He wiped away his wet eyes from laughing so hard. "Thomas, you gonna have to help me out on this one. I'm right aren't I?"

"Oh no, don't go dragging me into this one. I don't want to face the consequences." Thomas backed up from his chair, moving so that he was behind Minho and further away from me. "But, yeah."

"See, even the Greenie sees it."

A knock on the opened door grabbed our attention and we all turned to see who it was. Chuck stood there with my crutches in his hands, looking like he'd been chased across the Glade by a Griever. The atmosphere in the room died down.

"What's wrong?" Newt asked, the tone of his voice heightened my concern.

Chuck dropped one of the crutches. "Med-jacks sent me."

"Why?"

"I guess Alby's thrashing around and acting all crazy, telling them he needs to talk to somebody."

Newt made for the door, but Chuck held up his hand. "Um … he doesn't want you."

"What do you mean?"

Chuck pointed at Thomas. "He keeps asking for him."


	30. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Hello there fellow Gladers, long time no see. Sorry for the wait on an update, I have essays due in soon and haven't got round to starting them yet (which I really need to do). Hope you all well and enjoying the story. Only a short message this time round.**

**Comments wanted, needed!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

_There's just something hypnotic about maps. ~ Ken Jennings_

* * *

For the second time that day, we were all shocked.

"Well, come on," Newt said to Thomas as he grabbed his arm. "No way I'm not going with ya."

Minho and I both watched as Newt and Thomas left the room, with Chuck right behind them. He had left the crutches on the side of the entrance, lent against the doorway.

"Minho, be a dear and grab them." I pointed to what I wanted and waited for a response.

"You betta not start actin' like you run the place, cause I know exactly where you will be goin'." Minho said as he crossed the room to pick them up.

"And, where is that?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Now, now," Minho smirked. "We'd definitely have to kill you if you ever found out."

"Your havin' a laugh, right?" I frowned, unsure if he really was joking or had suddenly decided to act all serious.

"Calm down, I'm only kiddin'," he laughed. "You should have seen your face. Classic."

"Oh," I scoffed as I tried to take the crutches from his grasp. Minho was in a funny mood, and clearly he was having too much fun. He snatched the crutches out of my grasp, a sneaky grin on his face.

"Are you going to give them to me?" I asked, my hand outstretched and waiting.

He shrugged in response and handed them over to me properly. I gave a snarky smile before I stood up and adjusted myself to cover the weight for both edges.

"You done yet?" Minho said, standing by the open doorway. "Cause if you're gonna be lookin' after the maps, I need to show you where they are and what to do."

I sighed and slowly made my way over to where he stood, making sure that I only looked forward. Look down, and kapoof, Clarke-splattered rug to decorate the room. Not the best way to spend my days here in the Glade.

"You know what," Minho said in an irritated tone. He met me halfway through the room and grabbed the crutches from my arms. "Walkin' over there is goin' to take a lifetime, hop on my back and will take the Minho-express."

"Fine." I huffed, letting go of the two supports that kept me up. All in all, if life in the Glade was going to be like this for the time being, carted around everywhere, then sure why not, I'm going to use it.

"However, if your boyfriend gets all sulky, you are taking the blame."

"What?" I spluttered. "No wait a minute. First, this is your idea, you take the blame. And second, I'm saying this for the final time, Newt is not my boyfriend. I have no idea where you got that impression from. Seriously, we've only known each other for a week!"

"_Seriously, we've only known each other for a week_." Minho repeated in a high-pitched voice. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I do not sound like that!" I shrieked, crossing my arms over my chest and giving a sulky pout.

"You do!" Minho replied in the annoying voice that he was using. "We are wastin' time now hurry up."

I rolled my eyes and jumped onto his back as best as I could. Minho passed up the crutches for me to hold while he grabbed the end of my legs. He shifted around for a moment, trying to get my weight into the best place for him to bear.

"Hold on tight, it's gonna be a bumpy ride." Minho raced for the door, bursting through it in a split of a second. Light exploded into my eyes and I was partially blind from the sudden appearance into the daylight. Blue dots danced around my eye line, until they gradually faded out with the clarity of the world.

Let me tell you now that was the most amount of fun I had had in a while. Racing through the Glade, shrieking in delight as Minho spun too quickly in a circle, my body threatening to fall off if I leaned out to far. It was fun.

He crashed through the tree line, dodging branches as best that he could. His feet pounded the dirt, leaves crunching, twigs snapping. The path he took through the trees looked well-trodden, with the dirt flatter here than elsewhere in the trees.

Hidden away from the rest of the Gladers, I was flying down the path to where the Runners kept most of their equipment, including the maps.

Sure enough, a few moments later Minho stepped out of the path to face a pair of riveted metal doors, built into a wooden building. The doors stuck out like a sore thumb, the unnatural screaming into the natural, the harsh metal light projecting a barrier of light around itself.

I slid off the back of Minho, making sure that I didn't land on my broken ankle.

Seeing that I was no longer clinging onto his back, Minho strode over to the door and unlocked it. He cranked the wheel-handle, spinning it until there was a muffled click from inside, then pulled. With a lurch and a squeal, the heavy door swung open.

"Come on then," Minho said, beckoning me with a hand. I heaved my body towards the open doorway, my good leg leading the way. I past Minho without a word, my eyes too focused on the gripping curiosity that lay ahead of me.

The dark room had a must, wet smell, laced with a deep coppery scent so strong I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. A faded memory surfaced, the taste of copper pennies stinging my taste buds, the disgusting flavour being a poor choice to shove in a mouth.

Minho hit a switch from somewhere near the door, and several rows of fluorescent lights flickered until they came on in full strength, revealing the room in all of its detail.

In itself, the room was very simple. Not what I expected for the hideout of the Runners to look like.

"Welcome to the Map Room," Minho said, taking a position on my left. "The most happiest place to find yourself in the Glade."

Glancing back to the room, I saw that it was about twenty feet across with the concrete walls bare of any decoration. A wooden table sat in the exact centre of the room, eight chairs tucked neatly in around it. There were stacks and stacks of paper and pencils laid carefully about the table's surface, one for each chair. The only other items in the room were eight trunks, all evenly spaced out across the room, two to a wall, all closed.

It wasn't what I was expecting in the slightest – something more profound was higher in the list – yet, they still had somewhere to work.

I took a deep breath in. "And the smelliest."

"Hey," Minho said. "I kinda like it."

I shrugged in response.

Eyeing one of the chairs, I limped my way over, pulling it out from under the table as best as I could. Once it was so far out, I plopped myself on and lent the crutches on the side of the table. I made sure that I was careful enough not to knock any of the paper or pens from their respective places.

"So," I started, turning to face Minho. "What exactly is it that I need to know about the Maps?"

By this point, he had joined me at the table and had taken his own seat, opposite from where I sat. He placed his hands on top of the surface carefully, letting them intertwine with one another.

"I'm gonna give you a whistle-stop-tour of the place, but I won't teach ya everythin' now cause we don't have enough time to do it." Minho got up from his chair and crossed the room to one of the chests. He heaved it open, revealing more paper that was neatly stacked inside. "This is where we chart the Maze. All the twists and turns. All the paths. All the corridors. Everythin' is recorded on a piece of paper in this room."

He placed a hand into the chest, searching for something of relevance to what he was saying.

"Now," he continued. "I'm gonna show you a few things, just to get your head round it all. The ins and outs of this place – rules, if you want to be more specific."

Minho pulled out a thin piece of paper before he turned and shuffled over to the neighbouring chest. That too he opened and pulled another piece of paper out. This went on until he had opened all the chests around the room and pulled at least one sheet of paper from them.

Finally, after he had made his whole way round the room, Minho settled back into his chair opposite the table. I watched as he spread the sheets of paper out in front of him in order, then went to grab a fresh sheet with a pen.

"These are the maps of the Maze. As I said before, all the turns, paths and gaps you would find out there." He grabbed the plain piece of paper and started to draw. I leaned in closer to get a better look, watching him draw a large box that almost filled the entire page. Then he filled it with smaller boxes until it looked like a noughts and crosses board, three rows of three squares, all the same size. He wrote the word GLADE in the middle, then numbered the outside squares one to eight, starting in the upper left hand corner going clockwise. Lastly, he drew little notches here and there.

"These are the Doors," Minho said. "You know about the ones from the Glade, but there are four more out in the Maze that lead to Sections One, Three, Five and Seven. Did you encounter any of those in your night?"

I looked up from studying the drawn map from afar and shook my head. "I'm not sure, it was dark out there."

"It doesn't matter anyway." Minho slid the paper over so that it rested in front of me. I picked it up, fascinated with seeing the Maze structured in such a way.

"That's only a rough drawing of what the Maze looks like, it'll be explained more later." Minho then gestured towards the eight pieces of paper in front of him. "Here are the different Sections that I mentioned. There are eight in total, all of which are mapped and recorded into their corresponding chests."

Minho slid one over to me. I took it and studied the page intently. A rough sketch of a square maze filled the whole page, with notes scribbled in the top right corners of it: Section 8, followed by the name Hank, then the word Day, followed by a number – 749.

"What does the word mean?" I asked, pointing to the word _Day_ that had been written on the page.

"Haven't got a clue."

"And the number, 749, what does that mean?"

"The day number."

I hadn't expected the Gladers to know exactly how long they had been here. The phrase 'two years' had been tossed around the Glade as a matter of insult for some of the older ones, but I had only thought that it was an estimate. To actually know how long they had been stuck here, it made the situation a little more daunting. And to think of it, I'd been there almost two weeks, nothing compared to what they had been through.

"Day number," I repeated in a low voice. "But, I don't quite understand what I'm supposed to be doing with these maps."

"It's simple, really," Minho said, grasping the Section 8 map from my hands. "As we the Runners spend all day in the Maze runnin' the damn thin', you're gonna be here to do what we have little time to do."

"And what is that exactly?" I inquired, edging forward on my seat.

"You're gonna help us find a way out."


	31. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Hello there fellow Gladers, I'm back! And, it's officially been a year since I started the fic. How exciting. I hope your all having a good week, and ****Christmas**** is only round the corner. I'm so excited!**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter. Comments greatly appreciated!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

* * *

_The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be. ~ Socrates_

* * *

"A way out." I frowned in confusion, my brows wrinkling together. "But, you would have found one by now without my help."

Minho rolled his eyes and stood up from the table, eight pieces of paper in his hands. Whilst he circled back round the room to the chests, placing the sheets of paper neatly back onto the piles, he answered my concerns. "Yes, we would have found one. But, we can't find one. The problem is that we spend the day runnin' the paths, and less time tryin' to find a solution. That's why you're here."

"I still don't see the point in why I should be doing this," I retorted.

"Clarke, let me finish." Minho closed the lid of the last chest with a mighty thud. "By runnin' the Maze the whole day, we don't have enough time to look through the maps carefully. You have the blasted time, so you can look through them properly for any hints."

Minho's words rung through the air. All hope was now placed on to my shoulders, and they expected results. Good ones. I looked down at the hastily drawn map Minho had given me when he explained the Maze. Such a simple task had impossibility scrawled all over it.

"You okay?" Minho queried, concern written into his words.

"Fine," I insisted, locking my true feelings safely away. I glanced up to where he stood and gave the best convincing smile that I had. It seemed to work, because he dismissed the words and went back to cleaning up.

A minute passed before either of us spoke again.

"Hungry?" Minho finally said, breaking the silence that circled through the dingy room.

"Tiny bit," I responded.

Minho grinned. "Good, 'cause I am. Let's go look for some leftovers from lunch."

I grabbed my crutches, that were still magically balanced on the side of the table, slipped them under my arms and followed (as best I could) out of the Map Room. Once outside, he closed the heavy metal door, pushing it into place, then cranking the wheel-handle until it was tightly shut.

"Why must the door be locked?" I observed, curious for the reason for so much secrecy in this place.

"To keep all of it safe."

I, for one, was not satisfied with that answer. Yet, to stay on his good side, I chose to ignore the burning question that bit away at my mind – keep them safe from who?

* * *

Minho and I emerged from the tree line and headed straight over to the kitchens, determined on coming out with a prize from our hunt.

When we had appeared from the trees, I insisted to make my own way to the destination, without the need to be carried everywhere. Even though it was fun, I didn't want to make a habit out of using people to ferry me round. Suffer, I would, but it was all for the greater good.

Once we finally arrived at the Kitchens, we were greeted with a scene of Newt and Thomas both haggling Frypan, also, for leftover food. The cook looked displeased in giving out more than he already had, complaining that they missed lunch and had to wait until dinner.

"Not two more," Frypan whined as he saw Minho and I stroll into the kitchen, hungry looks sparkling in our eyes.

"Come off it, Frypan," Minho retorted. "Need not be too much."

Despite his grumbling, eventually we were able to gain a few cheese sandwiches (ham for me) and a handful of raw vegetables that were going to be used for dinner later that night.

"Give me Clarke's," Minho piped up from beside me, his hands full of his own food. "I'm apparently her maid for the day."

I scoffed at this remark, and punched him in the arm the best as I could without falling over in the process.

"Clarke, I do believe that is very unladylike," Minho mocked as he placed food on top of his.

"And how would you know what ladylike is?" I shot back.

He ignored me and instead turned his back to follow Newt and Thomas back out into the Glade. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Frypan shooting a hard stare at the retreating troop as they left, one that questions what on earth was going on. It had happened the whole time that we arrived, Frypan seemed uneasy with us there. The cook kept eyeing Thomas, giving him strange looks whenever his gaze fell upon him. Thomas started to notice it as well, as Frypan's eyes would dart away whenever the stare returned.

_Strange,_ I thought. _Where did this behaviour appear from?_

The eyes turned to me, a sense of perplexed confusion drifting in them. He coaxed his head to the side, his eyes flickering for a moment before he shook his head and glanced up once more.

I left in quite a hurry after that, giving Frypan a faint 'thank you' as I limped through the doorway. Outside, I stopped for a second, letting the cook's odd behaviour be locked into the back of my mind to be forgotten about.

"In there quite a while, we thought you got lost or somethin'," Newt laughed as he joined me by my side. His expression hardened, a frown smudging out the creases of a smile. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," I returned, biting back the urge to tell him what I saw. "Just hungry I guess."

I glanced up to look him in the eye, giving a small smile that I hoped would satisfy his worry. I guess that is the thing about me, or the old me. I hated to stand out, and hated for other people to worry about my problems. They need not be fussed with what I thought because what I thought didn't really matter. If I kept up the illusion that everything was all right, then I wouldn't need to face them. For the time being.

"You know you can tell me anythin'?" he softly whispered, the words picked carefully, as if he knew that everything was not all right. Not by a long shot.

I nodded instead of answering, for I knew that my words would give away all that was locked inside. I remained silent, but deep down, the craziness would catch up and eventually the little web will explode.

Breaking eye contact, I hobbled over to where Minho and Thomas were sitting, their backs to the west wall watching the Gladers work throughout the Glade. It didn't look far when I first started, but by the time I arrived, I was very much out of breathe and in a lot of pain. Up until now, I had been ignoring the festering burning rods that electrified my nerve endings in my leg and hand. By the time I eventually came to sit down next to Thomas (Newt joining me on my side), I was shaking all over like I had run the marathon. Minho passed my food to me and I forced myself to eat; the way things were going, I needed the strength to deal with surviving in this place.

"Any success with Alby?" Minho asked between bite fulls of his sandwich.

"Some," Newt responded, his voice telling a different story. "But it was eventful."

Thomas shuddered beside me, a few crumbs falling from the bread of his sandwich.

"Was it really that bad?" I added.

There was silence for a brief moment before Thomas finally filled in the gaps for us. He explained the whole ordeal that happened with Alby, mentioning everything in minute detail.

"We went in and he was lying there on the bed, asleep. Newt woke him up; he seemed fine at first, then started to declare that _everything was gonna change _and that he saw us–"

"Who?" Minho interrupted.

Thomas eyed him carefully before he continued. "Me and the kid in the coma." He paused. "Then he went all looney, demanding that Newt leave the room and that he only wanted to talk to me."

Thomas paused again.

"Go on then, what else?" I pushed, the curiosity to know more nibbling away at me.

"He said he knew who I was and that he had seen everything. Mentioned something called the Flare and said he remembered it."

My eyes widened. The Flare. I had heard that before. Amy mentioned it in the Maze when she condemned me to my fate. I remembered the look in her eye when she mentioned the word; the amount of weight behind it seemed unimaginable.

Thomas noticed my sudden change in facial expression, his brows furrowing together. "You know what that is?" he challenged.

"No," I insisted, shocked at the sudden accusation. "I was…was just surprised."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."

"I'm not," I urged, not wanting the wrong words to spill out.

"I can see it. What really happened in the Maze?" he demanded his face ever so close to mine. I shrunk back from him, my back firmly pressed against Newt's shoulder. A tremble escaped my lips, and I bit my mouth to make it stop.

"Tommy, shove off. She says she doesn't know, now leave it." Newt growled.

"Fine," Thomas grunted and with that the encounter was soon forgotten, for the meantime. "Anyway, after he mentioned the Flare, he seemed to lose control and started to strangle himself with his own hands. I called Newt in to help me stop him from killing himself. Newt managed to pull Alby's hands from his throat and secure them on his chest, while I clamped down his legs.

He jerked for bit, after we had stopped him from struggling, then he just calmed down until his breathing evened out."

"It was strange," Newt added. "He claimed it wasn't him doing it, but somethin' else controllin' his body. Kept insistin' that it wasn't him. We helped him back onto the bed properly, gettin' him comfortable to sleep, by then he had stopped saying he was being controlled and started to mutter something else."

There was another pause. Newt and Thomas both eyed each other a daunting look before Newt continued with the story.

"He said to _be careful round the boy _and to protect the maps."

It didn't surprise me that Alby would mutter such words. After all, everything seemed to centre round Thomas. The maps, well that was another aspect. Why would they need to protect the maps? They already were locked away, securely behind a metal door with a key that only few held. WICKED were playing a very dangerous game, if you ask me.

"Have you ever seen something like it before?" I said after a minute of silence. Newt looked at me, his face sombre.

"No. Never. But then again, no one's ever tried to tell us what they remembered during the Changin'. They always refuse. Alby tried to – must be why he went nuts for a while."

The terrifying thought of being controlled crossed my mind; the idea that they were able governor our every move from elsewhere, were we really free, or just a bunch of mice in a laboratory experiment.

"We have to find Gally," Minho said through a bite of a carrot.

"Dude, have you been listening to what we've been saying?" Newt said in disbelief.

"Yeah, but the shank has taken off somewhere and not been found. We need to find him and throw his butt in jail." Minho insisted as he took the last bites of his carrot.

"Serious?" Thomas said to eagerly.

"That shank threatened to kill you and we have to make bloody sure it never happens again. That shuckface is gonna pay a heavy price for actin' like that – he's lucky we don't Banish him."

"Yeah." Thomas said.

"Good that," Minho replied. He suddenly got up from sitting on the ground and mumbled something about trying to hunt a chicken down. I watched as he crossed the Glade and went to go on with whatever business he had.

"Here's how it'll play out," Newt said. "Both are with me the rest of today – we need to figure things. Tomorrow, the Slammer." I groaned. "Then Tommy, you're Minho's, while Clarke has map duty. And I also want you Thomas to stay away from the other shanks for a while. Got it?"

Thomas seemed more than happy to oblige. "Sounds beautiful. So Minho's going to train me?"

"That's right – you're a Runner now. Minho'll teach ya. The Maze, the Maps, everything. Lots to learn. I expect you to work your butt off."

The boys went quite after that as we finished our lunches. I glanced sideways to see the clogs ticking away inside Thomas's head as he tried to deceiver what exactly he be doing. We all were. So much new information had been fired upon us today, and it all circulated around Thomas, the coma-boy and mine's head. The Gladers knew that something wasn't right, and somehow we were all connected by that.

Newt crumpled his rubbish into a tight ball and turned to look at the kid straight in the eye.

"Thomas," he began, "I need you to accept somethin'. We've heard it too many times now to deny it, and it's time to discuss it."

I knew the very words that were going to slip from his mouth. We all knew.

"Gally said it. Alby said it. Ben said it," Newt continued, "the boy, after he was taken out of the Box, he said it."

He paused, expecting Thomas to ask what he meant.

"They all said things were going to change. And they did. Clarke here turned up." Newt looked away for a moment, then turned back. "That's right. Gally and Ben have both claimed to have seen you in their memories, and now Alby is saying he seen you – and from what I gather, it ain't all good. According to Gally, there's somethin' rotten about ya. The kid wouldn't have just said _bad_ if he didn't know what he was talkin' about."

"So you think I'm bad now?" I squealed, offended that that encounter was even mentioned. I knew that _word_ was directed straight at me. I knew it.

"No, no," Newt interjected quickly. "It's just an observation."

"A poor one if you ask me," I muttered under my breath. Seeing my dismay, he discretely took my hand that laid beside me and snaked his fingers into mine. He gave a tight squeeze as to reassure me he was still on my side.

"What about me? I don't know–" Thomas started, but Newt didn't let him finish.

"I know you don't remember anything, Thomas! Quit sayin' that – don't ever say it again. None of us remember anything, and we're bloody sick of you reminding us. The point is there's somethin' different about you, and it's time we figured it out."

"Fine so how do we do it? I want to know who I am just as much as anyone else. Obviously." Thomas spat at Newt angrily.

"I need you to open your mind. Be honest if anything – anything at all – seems familiar."

"Nothing–" Thomas started, but stopped. Again, the look in his eye washed over him, he was thinking hard and his clogs were moving fast.

"I can see your wheels spinnin'," Newt said quietly, saying exactly what I thought. "Talk."

Thomas hesitated, then opened his mouth, letting the words spill out from him. "Well … I can't put my finger on anything specific." He spoke slowly, carefully. "But I did feel like I'd been here before when I first got here." He looked at Newt, hoping to see some sort of recognition in his eyes. "Anyone else go through that?"

But Newt's face was blank. He simply rolled his eyes. "Uh, no, Tommy. Most of us spent a week klunkin' our pants and bawlin' our eyes out."

"What about you?" Thomas directed the question towards me. "I have only heard bits and pieces of what happened when you arrived."

"I was out for two days, so I think that covers most of it."

"Really," Thomas said inquisitively. "Two days? And then did you cry?"

"No, not really." I pondered for a second at what this meant.

"You were real quiet though, and jittery. Anything made you jump." Newt added.

"But, was there any strange behaviour?" Thomas persisted, now fully interested in my arrival.

"Never spoke unless you were talkin' to her."

"You know I'm right here, I ain't an animal." I interjected into this cross-examination.

They both looked at me with a keen eye, each had theories and ideas circulating past their eyes.

"Thomas, carry on with what you were saying," I pushed, no longer wanting to be the talk of the subject.

"Fine, well." He paused. "It all seemed familiar to me, and I knew I wanted to be a Runner."

"That's bloody interesting." Newt examined him for a second, not hiding his obvious suspicion. "Well, keep lookin' for it. Strain your mind, spend your free time wanderin' your thoughts, and think about this place. Delve inside that brain of yours, and seek it out. Try, for all our sakes."

"I will." Thomas closed his eyes.

"Not now, you dumb shuck." Newt laughed. "I just meant do it from now on. Free time, meals, goin' to sleep at night, as you walk around, train, work. Tell me anything that seems even remotely familiar. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it." Thomas repeated, a sense of worry in his voice.

"Good that," Newt said, looking almost too agreeable. "To begin, we better go see someone."

"Who?" I asked.

"The boy that won't wake. I want both of ya to look at him till your eyes bleed, see if somethin' gets trigged in them brains of yours." Newt released my hand, gathered his lunch rubbish and mine, and stood up. He extended an empty hand my way and gently helped me to my feet. Thomas passed up the crutches, which laid beside him, and I slipped them under my arms. He then stood and we all walked (limped) back towards the Homestead, where the boy still laid in a coma. Newt kept close to my side, as if he was a guardian angel that would always protect me. _A bit far-fetched_, I giggled to myself.

"If all else fails," Newt said, "we'll send ya to the Grievers – get ya stung so you can go through the Changing. We need your memories." Thomas barked a sarcastic laugh at the idea, but Newt wasn't smiling.


	32. Chapter Thirty

**Hello there fellow Gladers, it's been a long time since I have updated. Sorry about that. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter And if you want a movie to watch this weekend, go see 'The 5th Wave'. It's one of my favourite books and I deffo want to see a sequel to it.**

**I have also finished updating eariler chapters, so you can now enjoy all the changes!**

**Comments always greatly appreciated!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

* * *

_Everything we are is at every moment alive in us.**" ~** Arthur Miller_

* * *

The boy seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic beat. Standing there, I expected to see a skeletal body of a person that was on the verge of death, not someone who looked like they would wake up at any second. Colour perked his cheeks instead of a deathly pale. The gash along his face had been cleaned and looked a lot less infected then it had when I first saw him.

Clint bent over the body, dropping water into the coma-boy a few drips at a time. A bowl rested on the bedside table holding the remains of his lunch – soup. It seemed that they were doing everything in their power to keep this boy alive.

"Hey, Clint," Newt said, grabbing the attention of the Med-jack. "He still alive?"

"Yeah," he answered. "He's doing fine, though he does talk in his sleep. We reckon he'll come out of it soon."

It felt strange talking about the boy possibly waking up and being fine. Talking to people around him. I would reckon everyone had forgotten about him over the few days since he turned up, I certainly had.

"Have you been writin' down every word?" Newt enquired. Clint nodded.

"Most of it's hard to understand. But yeah, we have."

Newt pointed at a notepad. "Give me an example."

"Well, he mutters the same thing he said when he was pulled out of the Box, about things changing. A few things about the Creators and how 'it all has to end'. And, uh …" Clint looked at Thomas, not wanting to continue unless he was out of the room.

"It's okay – they can hear whatever I hear," Newt assured him.

"It's him I'm not okay with," Clint mumbled, but continued anyway in a louder voice. "Well … it's hard to make out, but he uses their names a lot. More of Thomas'."

Thomas whitened at this, his face scrunching up in an act of displeasure. He didn't take it very well. There seemed to be countless references to him (and a few to me) that all ended in the same way. I could tell he questioned this, asking himself if he knew this boy. I certainly didn't, but it was like an itch at the back of my head. Somehow, the coma-boy was familiar.

"Thanks, Clint" Newt said in what sounded like a dismissal. "Get a full report of that, okay?"

"Will do." The Med-jack nodded and before he left the room, he motioned for me to follow him. I turned from the boy and followed him; Clint closed the door behind us.

"You well?" he asked, crossing his arms. I nodded. "That's good. I just wanted ask about your ankle."

"Oh." I said, taken aback. "What about it?"

"It was a clean break, but by the looks of it, you had to reset it." Clint whispered, as if he thought people were listening in. "Is that right?"

"Yeah," I whispered back, the memory of the pain flooding back in, setting my ankle on fire. I doubled over in pain, a sharp breath of air filling my lungs. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not allow the pain to take over.

"You need something to stop the pain?" Clint asked worriedly.

"Please."

Clint stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled a small white pill that he handed it over to me. I took it from him.

"I don't have water, so you gonna have to burn your throat."

I popped the pill into my mouth and swallowed.

We both stood there, an awkward silence eloping the corridor. I readjusted my hands on the crutches and watched my feet.

"I should get back in." I finally said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah." Clint nodded and opened the door for me. "Just don't overdo it today."

I nodded and walked in on Thomas bent over the boy, staring intently at his face. Newt sat on the opposite side, leaning back in his chair. I went over to him, trying to mask the pain from my face. I stood beside him, and leaned into him.

"What is he doing?" I hissed in his ear.

He glanced up with curious eyes, then pushed himself up from the chair and told me to take his place. I took his place and lowered myself gently into the chair. I allowed the crutches to drop beside me.

"Anything ring a bell?" Newt asked. "Anything at all?"

Thomas didn't response, instead he kept looking at the boy to trigger any sort of memory. It was hard to forget a face like his, the bright green eyes that lit up with so much anger the first time we met when he was pulled out of the Box. I noticed the way Thomas looked at him, in a way a brothers look at each other (blood related or not). It lasted for only an instant before his memory wipe poofed it away.

I, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable being around the boy. And every second spent here, a stronger recognition trickled in at the back of my mind. He and Thomas both seemed to be bad news, but I kept that to myself.

"I don't know him," he whispered as he leant back in the chair.

"What? Who is he?" Newt snapped.

"No idea. But something clicked – I know him from somewhere." Thomas rubbed his eyes in frustration. "I'm trying, so shut up."

"You try, Clarke," Newt asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders and leant back in my chair. I closed my eyes for a few moments, delving into the darkest pits of my thoughts, trying to find his face in a sea of the unfamiliar. I delved in further, reaching for deepest parts. I tried harder and in the process, leant to far back in my chair that I would have fallen of it if Newt hadn't caught me.

"Seriously, what is it with you and objects?" Newt said as he held the back of the chair for me. I gave him a large toothy grin his way instead of answering his rhetorical question.

"I just don't–" Thomas jolted up from his chair, knocking it backwards, then spun in a circle as if he was searching for something.

"What's wrong?" I asked with a curious eye. "Did you remember somethin'?"

Thomas ignored me, continuing to look round the room in confusion, then back at the boy.

"I …" He picked up his chair and sat back down, leaning forward. "Clarke, did you just say something before I stood up?"

"No, why?"

"Oh. I just thought I heard something … I'm not sure. Maybe it was in my head."

"Why?" I ask again.

"Well, um …" Thomas glanced back at the boy. "I thought I heard a girl's voice."

"A girl's?" Newt repeated. "It can't have been Clarke, she hasn't spoken since ya jumped up."

"That means …" Thomas' eyes lit up. "Is there another girl here?"

"No," I snapped a little too loud.

"Okay. Well, I … I swear a girl said what his name is. Aris."

"Aris? No, I didn't hear that. You?" I shook my head. "Must've sprung loose from your bloody memory block."

"That must be his name then. Aris. Has to be." I added. I rethought the conversation, what we were discussing had supernatural tendencies. Impossible. But, then again, with what I had been through the past two weeks, it seemed likely.

"It was … I swear I heard it. But in my mind, I can't explain." Suddenly, Thomas jumped from his chair and scrambled as far from the bed as he could, knocking over the lamp on the table; it landed with a crash and broken glass.

"What's bloody wrong with you?" Newt asked, crossing over to him.

"In my head. She keeps talking to me in my head. She just said my name!"

"What?"

"I swear!"

Thomas struggled to get up from floor, knocking the table with him. His eyes were wide with fear. He never quite focused on one thig in the room, looking at random spots.

"I'm hearing a voice, her voice in my head – or something … it's not really a voic–"

"Tom, just sit down. You're gettin' yourself all worked up over nothin'." I asserted.

"Clarke, I'm serious. It's … not really a voice … but it is."

"I understand."

"You don't!" Thomas snapped. He rose from the floor. "You don't understand anything."

"Excuse me," I retorted. "And what shit do you know?"

Thomas opened his mouth to answer, when again he distracted himself and again went back to searching for the body the voice belonged too.

"Thomas, Tom, listen." I tried to grab his attention. His eyes flickered to mine. "It's real."

If eyes could widen even further, then Thomas' did. "How do you know?"

"Cause …" I did a quick sweep of the room, hoping that they weren't listening. "I hear them too."

The room fell into silence, only the sound of 'Aris' breathing in and out. But, that was soon disrupted with Thomas frantically searching again. He put his hands up to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut. Thomas backed up against the far wall, banging his head.

"Tommy, stop." Newt called. "Sit back down."

Thomas ignored him and all Newt's next questions that were fired at him. He stumbled to the door and yanked it open, stepping into the hallway and ran. We heard his faint steps run from the Homestead and into the Glade. Newt crossed the room to the window, watching wherever the boy kid had gone to.

Newt stood there for a few moments, clearly Thomas now gone from his view, and gave a long sigh. He rubbed his temple.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Where did Thomas go?"

Newt ignored me.

I asked again.

Ignored.

"Newt," I whispered. "What's wrong?"

"What else have you lied about?" Newt turned to face me.

"Lied? I haven't lied." I spluttered, not looking him in the eye.

"Clarke, what is so bad that you have to lie about?" Newt said.

I fidgeted on my seat, playing with my hands, wishing that I could reverse time. I tried stop myself from answering his questions, to be here. I knew the consequences if I told anyone; I already broken it once, I couldn't do it again. Not for anyone. Not even Newt.

"I can't … I can't say," my voice quietened. "Please, don't make this difficult."

"Difficult," Newt viciously laughed. "Clarke, you need to wake up. You, right now, live in a Maze, within a group of people that rely on trust. No trust, no group of people."

"I know that," I huffed, annoyed with the same lecture given to me. It was as if they were subtly telling me that I was breaking up their 'group'. "It's just not that simple."

"Simple!" Newt shouted. I jumped from my sit, my hands clamped together. "Who the bloody hell you are you, Clarke?"


	33. Chapter Thirty-One

**As I'm bored, I decided too post this chapter. A smaller filler chapter. Enjoy, queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

* * *

_You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don't have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn't mean they apply to you ~ The 5th Wave_

* * *

"Clarke!" I shouted back. Fuck my phobia of shouting, fuck it all. "Memory-blank Clarke, with a death threat over her head."

I clamped my hand over my mouth. It was too late. I could never take those words. Forever, those words would ring in that room, piercing the delicate situation that we all found ourselves within. I turned myself away from him, facing the wooden wall. I shook inside and out. Did they hear me? Had they heard everything?

Tears trickled down my face. I wiped them away as fast as I could; I didn't need this now. Not after everything. I needed to protect them; I needed to keep them safe from the danger.

"Why have you got a death threat?" Newt said in a low voice. "Who is threatenin' you?"

"No one," I snapped. "Forget I said anythin'. Forget the conversation. Forget everything!"

I grabbed my crutches from the floor, shoved my hands on them and tried to move as fast as I could out of the doorway. I wish I could run again from my problems, not have the burden of being slow and an easy target.

Newt grabbed my arm firmly, causing me to land heavily on my bad leg. I hissed in pain, closing my eyes for a second to channel out the pain.

"Let me go," I said through gritted teeth. "I want to go."

"You can't keep runnin' away from ya problems," Newt breathed, keeping me firmly planted where I was. "Fess up."

"No."

"Clarke."

"I can't."

"Then tell me another way."

Another way? That would work. Surely WICKED were only listening, and their cameras were the beetle blades. Surely we both would notice if one of them crawled in. I shook Newt's hand from my arm, and straightened myself.

"Fine, but not 'ere. Aris gives me the creeps."

I left the room where the boy slept and made my way slowly towards mine, not waiting to see if Newt had followed me. Inside, I crossed over to the books I had left lying on my bed from the previous night. I picked the nearest one, opening the cover page to reveal it was blank. I motioned for a pen, sticking my hand out. Newt shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pencil. He placed it in my hand.

I gripped it and sat down on the bed, several books falling from the covers.

This was the first time I had written since I arrived here. It never occurred to me if I could even write. I knew that I could read, the letters on boxes and maps clearly recognisable. Writing, now I was going to learn something.

Pen – I mean pencil – to paper, I scribbled as much information as I could cram onto that page. When I ran out, I moved onto the back, scribbling as much as I could on that side.

Once I was done, I closed the book and rested it on my lap.

"Whatever you read in here, do not repeat to anyone else," I warned. "More people that know, the more likely that I won't see daylight in two days' time."

"Gotca." Newt sat beside me and took the book from my grasp, flicking the front page open. He begun to read.

I watched as his eyes followed more poor handwriting, taking in the story of what had happened over the past few days. His eyes widened in parts, the places where I wrote my fate and encounters. He ran a hand through his hair as he went onto the back page to read the last part.

"This is a lot," Newt said. "And doesn't really make sense."

"Why not? You wanted the truth."

"It's just … just that why would they want to test you?"

"No, it's more like a punishment. Started with the hay fever, then I think they went a bit far with luring me in the Maze."

"I still don't understand."

"What is there not to understand?"

"Everythin'." Newt exclaimed throwing the book onto the pile on the floor. He shot up from the floor and started to pace the room. "Nothin' makes any bloody sense no more. You. Tommy. Coma-kid."

"I've told you all I know," I exclaimed, throwing my hands up into the air. "There's nothin' more to be said."

"All that we know," Newt said, ignoring me. "All that is known, and somehow they only contact you."

"It's not how it seems–"

"It is entirely what it seems!" Newt shouted. "You lie, lie and lie. I don't even know what the truth is anymore?"

"Now that is absurd. If you're gonna talk nonsense, then get out and leave me be," I cried. "I've had quite enough for one day, and all these accusations are tiring me out. Believe what you want, Newt. But I've risked my neck givin' you this information. Don't let me regret it. Goodnight."

With that, Newt opened the door and left the room. Doing as I wished. I flopped onto my bed, smothering my face into the pillow as I released a muffled scream. Why does this always happen to me?

After a while, I began to fade into darkness allowing sleep to engulf my body. I deserved that, at least. Especially from a day like today. Especially from a day …

* * *

The next morning, I awoke from someone gently shaking my shoulders.

"Clarke, wake up." It was Newt – couldn't he just leave me alone?

Groaning, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, stretching my arms and my leg. A few blankets had been placed over my in the night, which explained why I was so comfy and warm.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Just in time for breakfast." Newt said, helping me move my legs from my bed. He then passed me my crutches. I took them and motioned for him to step back while I got up and out of the bed myself. "I wanted to say somethin', say I was sorry about the outburst."

"Sorry," I said in shock. "Why you sorry, I'm the one that should be."

"You say it too much," Newt commentated. "So I've decided to reverse the situation. I'm sayin' sorry for over reactin' and not understandin'. I get it now."

"Have you told anyone?" I asked.

"No."

"Good." I sucked in a breath of air and spoke the next part as fast as I could. "I-also-forgot-to-say-that-Thomas-and-Aris-look-familiar."

Newt looked stunned for a moment. "Repeat that last part again, slowly."

"I also forgot to say that Thomas and Aris look familiar," I slowly say, anticipating the next part – shouting and screaming until he was red and purple.

"Course, you forgot that," Newt laughed. That reaction surprised me, but I was thinking the worst situation possible.

"You're not mad?" I questioned, raising my eyebrow.

"Nah, it made sense, seein' as you keep actin' strange around them," Newt said. "Anyway, I'm here to take you to breakfast before ya run off into the trees again."

I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Newt looked down at me, dumbfounded. "What was that for?"

"That's for understanding," I said. "And this …"

I kissed him on the lips.

"… is my sorry."

"I'm starting to like these new apologies," Newt murmured. "But, there not gonna get you out of the Slammer, no matter how temptin'."

I rolled my eyes and followed him out of the Homestead towards the kitchen to grab breakfast. Yet again, I had forgotten to eat dinner the previous night, which I would have to stop if I didn't want to become any thinner. I started to notice the change in my weight when the trousers I'd been wearing, the first day I turned up here, slipped every now and again when I walked or sat anywhere. If I didn't start eating all my meals, then I no longer could wear these trousers without a tight belt secured around me. For now, I used a long strip of bandage that I swiped from the Med-jacks to keep them up, loose enough for when I went to the toilet.

"Did you find Thomas last night?" I asked.

"Yeah, up by the walls." He answered as he grabbed my plate and his from the shelf. "I told them to let him sleep. He needed it, mind you, and so did you. After the events over the past two days I thought it best just to leave you lot in peace."

We walked to an empty space on a table where Thomas and Chuck had already started to eat their breakfast. By now, I had gotten used to the stares from the Gladers. But today, walking towards a table, I noticed a few dirty looks here and there, and a few nods with smiles. Some were mad, and some loved me.

Too much attention for me.

"Don't start runnin', suck it up Sun Princess," Newt whispered beside me.

I sat down beside Chuck and started to eat the steaming eggs on my plate. Still, I spotted dirty looks, but what were they going to do.

"Hey Chuck," Thomas asked after taking a bite of eggs, trying to sound casual. "Did they ever find Gally?"

"No. I was gonna tell you – someone said they saw him run out into the Maze after he left the Gathering. Hasn't been seen since."

Thomas dropped his fork onto his plate, I stopped eating, not knowing what I'd expected or hoped for from that answer. Either way, the news stunned me.

"What? You're serious? He went into the Maze?"

"Yeah. Everyone knows he went nuts – some shank accused you of killing him when you ran out there yesterday."

"I can't believe …" Thomas stared at his plate.

"You went out in the Maze? Again?" I questioned.

"Yeah," Thomas answered bluntly, before I was ignored by both again. I really need to make more friends in the Glade if this was going to happen each time. I carried on with my food and listened into the conversation that they were having.

"Don't worry about it, dude. No one liked him expect for his shuck cronies. They're the ones accusing you of stuff."

It was a surprise how casually Chuck spoke about this. "Ya know, the guy is probably dead. You're talking about him like he went on vacation."

A contemplative look came over Chuck. "I don't think he's dead."

"Huh? Then where is he? Aren't Minho and I the only ones who've survived a night out there?"

"That's what I'm saying. I think his buddies are hiding him inside the Glade somewhere. Gally was an idiot, but he couldn't possibly be stupid enough to stay out in the Maze all night. Like you."

Thomas shook his head.

"Maybe that's exactly why he stayed out there. Wanted to prove he could do anything I can do. The guy hates me." A pause. "Hated me."

_Both of us_, I mentally added.

"Well, whatever." Chuck shrugged as if they were arguing over what to have for breakfast. "If he's dead, you guys'll probably find him eventually. If not, he'll get hungry and show up to eat. I don't care."

Thomas picked up his plate and left the table, leaving Chuck and me alone.

"How long do ya think he'll last?"

"Gally, not long. He's a pig." Chuck whispered, glancing around to see if anyone heard him.

"Rude, but funny." I laughed.

"What's funny?" said a voice behind me. I twisted my head to see Newt standing there, smiling, with Thomas moodily standing beside him a pillow in his arm. I groaned, knowing that full well why he turned back up. "Come on, Clarke. It's a chance to unwind, take it easy. A day to just sit and relax."

I groaned once more.

"And, Clint gave me these." Newt passed a few pills into my hands. "Still hurt?"

"Newt, dear, the ankle always hurts," I said after I swallowed the pain relief. "Time to go then."

I rose from the table and followed them both towards a day of excitement.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Hello there fellow Gladers,**

**Sorry it has been a long time since I updated. I have had many essays due in the past month and have not had time to write or even edit this fic. I am surprised that people are still even finding it! From now on I am just going to post what I have, I do not have time to edit fully, but someday I will come round too it. **

**Which also reminds me, at the moment I have planned out the sequel but have only written two chapters. Hopefully when I break up for summer, I will be able to write some more. I am planning on it being a shorter novel, due to the fact I would love to finish this story. Thank you for the patience, and hopefully I will update some more later.**

**Sorry for all the mistakes from here no out!**

**Comments greatly needed, wanted!**

**Thank you for following/liking!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

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_The best teachers impart knowledge through sleight of hand, like a magician. ~ Kate Betts_

* * *

The Slammer stood as it had the first time I entered that boring place, in an obscure place between the Homestead and the north Glade wall, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn't been touched in a while. Newt took a key out and opened it up, then motioned for us to enter.

"There's only a chair in there, nothin' at all for ya to do."

"What about the pillow?" I pointed to it, squished beneath Thomas' arm.

"Clint's orders. A pillow to help the healing." Newt grabbed the pillow from Thomas and placed it in the inside of the room. I groaned as I stepped inside to the place of boredom – that ugly rickety chair was going to burn when I get my hands on it as soon as I leave this place.

Lucky for me, I had a cushion this time.

"Have fun," Newt said before closing the door.

I shuffled over to grab my pillow, hearing the latch close and the lock click as I bent down. Newt's head appeared at the little glassless window, looking through the bars, a smirk on his face.

"Nice reward for ya both, breakin' the rules. But ya still need to learn–"

"Yeah, I think we got it. Order."

Newt smiled. "Good, at least you know what this is all about. Gotta keep things running properly, keep us buggers alive. Ya should think about it while ya sit here, stare at the bloody walls if you need to. Enjoy."

And then he was gone.

* * *

The first hour passed with what I expected to happen, a lot of shuffling around the room and a lot of sighing. Boredom would be our new worst enemy in this place, it creeping in like a fog under the door. Thomas sat on that chair, his chin resting on one hand while the other tapped annoyingly against the leg of the chair, all while he stared at the door. I, however, had taken refuge in the far corner of the Slammer, both legs resting on the pillow, my back leant up to the wall. To stop my boredom, I stared at different parts of the walls, learning the design and anything interesting that could be found on it.

The last time I had been in here, the sky had darkened quickly and it gave me the chance to sleep. But still, it was a boring place to be.

By the second hour, Thomas and I still hadn't spoken. I hadn't moved from my spot, despite the pins and needles, but Thomas paced the room instead with a look of 'I could really bang my head against the wall and by the end of it I would still be bored.' As for me, I tried dozing.

Two hours after that, silence was the new boredom. I don't how we were able to last that long without talking, yet we did. But, soon after that I decided to strike up a conversation with Thomas, who had once again retaken his seat and clearly in deep thought with a scrunched up nose.

"Why'd you go shuckin' crazy yesterday?" I asked, using the same phrasing that he had used when we first met.

"I told you, she was talking to me," Thomas snapped, not turning to face me.

"Does _she_ have a name?"

"Yeah."

"Then what is it?"

Thomas paused. He turned to face me. "Teresa."

"_You're not going to get far, Space-girl,"_ _hissed a blue-eyed girl into my ear. "My friends will stop you."_

I blinked once, shook my head and blink again. Well that was odd. Really odd. I searched my blank mind for a face to those blue eyes, but all that came back was a mist – wait for it – of nothingness.

"Memory?" Thomas said.

"I think," I rubbed my head, hoping more would spring back. This memory blank would be the death of me.

Thankfully, Chuck arrived with lunch, relieving us from our endearing thoughts. He passed some chicken and water through the window, then took up his role of talking.

"Everything's getting back to normal," the boy announced. "The Runners are out in the Maze, everyone's working – maybe we'll survive after all. Still no sign of Gally – Newt told the Runners to come back lickety-splickety if they found his body. And, oh, yeah – Alby's up and around. Seems fine – and Newt's glad he doesn't have to be the big boss anymore."

Thomas sprung up from his food, no longer interested with his food. Chuck continued to talk, taking a complete unexpected turn. "Clarke, can I talk to you?"

"Now?"

"Please?"

I nodded and rose from the floor, leaving my crutches behind. Once by the door, I leaned up and listened to what Chuck whispered. "It's weird … to feel sad and homesick, but have no idea what it is you wish you could go back to, ya know?"

"Chuck, it's normal to feel homesick."

"Really, do you get it?"

The truth, even though my first thoughts were of a family, I never really _missed_ them. Never thought about them. Never, much, gave a second thought if I had any. Did I have a family? No idea. I wish for one, yes, but not yearn for one. Deep down at the bottom of my heart, a flicker of hope ignited knowing that a family I loved was there in my heart. That was all. A feeling.

"Sometimes," I lied to Chuck. "Sometimes not. You see, what I do is I don't think about the now, I think about the future. We mustn't have long left in this place, focus on that. You're ever so closer at seeing a family that loves you. Hey, I bet you have one of them real nice mum's that bakes the most delicious cookies that you have tasted and a dad that teaches you the stuff you wouldn't learn in school. And best of all …" I wiggled my finger, speaking the next part in a hushed voice. "I bet your family loves you the most out of the entire Glade, and are missing you as much as you are them."

"Clarke, can I tell you something else?"

"Sure, kiddo," I chirped.

"I used to cry. Every night."

"Oh, Chuck." I sighed, letting the sympathy escape.

"Like a pants-wettin' baby. Almost till the day you got here. Then I just got used to it, I guess. This became home, even though we spend every day hoping to get out."

"You know, I've only cried a few times since I've been 'ere." I admitted. "Once when I had to set my ankle back and once another time. Thomas, you?"

If Chuck admitted to it, then we all had to admit to it. It's a far deal. Thomas shook his head and rested the plate on the ground.

"I've only cried once since showing up, but that was after almost getting eaten alive. I'm probably just a shallow shuck-face."

"You cried?" Chuck said through the window. "Then?"

"Yeah. When the last one finally fell over the Cliff, I broke down and sobbed till my throat and chest hurt. Everything crushed in on me at once. Sure made me feel better—don't feel bad about crying. Ever."

"See, everyone does it. I bet Gally has as well," I giggled.

Chuck laughed, his eyes lighting up. "I would give everything I have to see that."

"I bet we all would," Thomas mumbled behind us, but soon enough he was laughing as well.

The laughter died down after a while and a few minutes passed in silence. No regards to Thomas, I was hoping Chuck wouldn't leave us here again, he's an absolute bore.

"Hey, Clarke?" Chuck asked.

"Yep."

"You really think I would have the best parents?"

I laughed, mostly to push away the sadness that lured behind that question. "You kiddin' Chuck, what I just say? Your mum is a baking-genius and your dad is what everyone wants their dad to be like. Your parents are the top-notch superstars of the parenting world!"

"Does the birds and the bees lecture need to be explained to you?" Thomas added.

"The what?"

"Ah, come of it, Clarke. Surely you have heard of the birds and the bees? Newt's already taught you some."

"Thomas!" I shrieked, my face burning up to a bright tomato. Mortified, I was. "You're lucky I can't walk very far or that smile wouldn't have a face to belong to."

This only made him laugh harder and I blush redder.

("You didn't deny it?")

("I don't have to deny anything to you?")

("So are you a thing?")

("Last chance, Thomas.")

"That's not what I meant," Chuck said, his voice completely devoid of cheer. It was low and bleak, almost a mumble. "Most of the guys who've gone through the Changing remember terrible things they won't even talk about, which makes me doubt I have anything good back home. So, I mean, you think it's really possible I have a mum and dad out in the world somewhere, missing me? Do you think they cry at night?"

"Chuck, listen up. Everyone cries. I cry, you cry, Thomas (unbelievably) cries. I bet they do as well. It's human to do so." There and then, I reconsidered what I thought about the other Gladers. Life had been a whirl wind of a ride since I arrived, I never really thought about the boys as people with real families behind them. Heck, the consideration hadn't even past through me.

Chuck, was a kid that should have been in school, living in a nice neighbourhood, playing with kids that all lived there. Out of all of us, he deserved to go home at night to greet a family that loves him, who worried about him. To a mum that made him those amazing cookies and a dad that teaches him stuff he wouldn't learn in school. I had hated WICKED for putting me through my trials, my hatred intensified for them taking this poor, innocent kid from his family. I would make everything right just to replace the happiness that had been ripped from our lives.

"Thomas," I whispered. "Words of wisdom." I pointed to Chuck behind the door.

Thomas rose from his chair and came to stand beside me, leaning against the wooden door. "Listen to me, Chuck." Thomas paused. "I'm sure you have parents. I know it. Sounds terrible, but I bet your mum is sitting in your room right now, holding your pillow, looking out at the world that stole you from her. And yeah, I bet she's crying. Hard. Puppy-eyed, snotty-nosed crying. The real deal."

Chuck didn't say anything, but I thought I heard the slightest of sniffles. "Don't give up, Chuck. We're gonna solve this thing, get out of here. I'm a Runner now— I promise on my life I'll get you back to that room of yours. Make your mum quit crying."

"Hope you're right," Chuck said with a shaky voice. If the door wasn't here, I would have grabbed that boy and hugged him till others were practically pulling me off him. He showed a thumbs-up sign in the window, then walked away.

Thomas walked away from the door to pace the room again, mumbling words to himself. "I swear, Chuck," he whispered to no one. "I swear I'll get you back home."


	35. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Hello there fellow Gladers,**

**I hope you are having a good weekend. Here is another chapter to lighten up your day. Only a short message this time!**

**Comments very much appericated!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

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_Never be afraid to sit awhile and think. ~ Lorraine Hansberry_

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Just after I heard the grind and rumble of the stone walls closing of the Doors for the day, Alby showed up looking happy and well. From what I had heard, his recovery seemed miraculous, compared to what Ben went through. The metal of key and lock jingled; then the door to the cell swung wide open.

"Ain't dead, are we?" Alby asked. From the stories I overheard, looking at Alby you wouldn't have thought that he was a paler colour then he was, his eyes crisscrossed with red veins, his skin sticking to his bones. Thomas lied to me.

Alby noticed us goggling him. "Shuck it, what you both lookin' at?"

Thomas shook his head slightly, bashing a hand against it. "What – Nothing. Just seem crazy you healed so quickly. You're fine now, right?"

Alby fled his right bicep. I rolled my eyes. "Ain't never been better – come on out."

Thomas helped me up from the floor, passed my crutches and placed the pillow under his arm. I hobbled out of the Slammer, the sun faded behind the walls. Thomas came behind me, squinting from the amount of sunlight – which wasn't that much.

Alby closed the Slammer door and locked it, then turned to face us "Actually, nothin' but a lie. I feel like a piece of klunk twice crapped by a Griever."

"Yeah, you looked it yesterday," Thomas said. Alby glared at him, and he quickly added. "But today you look brand new, I swear."

"Smooth," I mumbled.

Alby put the keys in his trouser pocket and leaned back against the Slammer's door. "So, quite the little talk we had yesterday."

At this point, it would have been best if I faded out of the picture, but my goddamn curiosity got the better of me. I stayed quiet and listened, visible but not visible.

"Uh … yeah, I remember."

"I saw what I saw, Greenie. It's kinds fadin', but I ain't never gonna forget. It was terrible. Tried to talk about it, somethin' starts choking me. Now the images are gone, like that same somethin' don't like me remembering."

There was a moment of silence, words being determined in Thomas's mind. Or was it fear? "What was it about me – you kept saying you saw me. What was I doing?"

Alby stared into empty space in the distance for a while before answering. "You were with the … Creators. Helping them. But that ain't what got me shook up."

My jaw dropped. Helping them? Why would Thomas help them? A sudden headache erupted in my head and closed my eyes to subdue it. And it did, with a brief memory.

_I stood in a long hallway, the lights flickering above me. Everything around was painted white, the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Shiny and white. A heavy weight slung from shoulder, knocking against the side of my hip. I looked down to see my bag, firmly closed, my hand pushing the top down. What really caught my eye, however, was the knife squeezed within my palm. A doppelgänger of the same knife that I found stuffed in my bag covered in blood. This one was not covered in blood – it shone from the light above. _

"_You can't run forever!" a mocking voice echoed from behind me. I stole a glance behind me before I took off in the opposite direction. My shoes stamping against the cold, shiny ground, running to escape the voice. _

"_We'll find you, Space-girl!" _

_I turned the corner of the corridor, into another long one. Fortunately, this time there were doors littered along the walls on either side. Not stopping, I jumped to every door, twisting the knobs until I found one that would unlock. _

_Result. The fifth door I tried was a success and I snuck in, closing as silently as I could behind me. _

_I spun to face the room I found myself in, a small green light illuminating as much as it could. There was no time to wait for my eyes to readjust. I placed my hands out in front of me, tracing along (what must have been) workbenches, until I picked the right one. I followed the line of benches down, then ducked under one just before the door swung open and the lights flicked on._

_I sucked in a gulp of air, then covered my hand over my face to minimize the noise of me breathing._

"_I'll check this one, Tess. You check that one," said the voice that had been mocking me. He (it was a male voice) closed the door behind him, then laughed. "I know you're in here, girl. You're not that smart."_

_He chuckled again. I heard his steps around the room as he scoured under the tables to find me. How was I going to get out of this one? There was no exit, apart from the one I came in. Oh, why does this always happen to me._

"_Gotcha," came from over the table as a hand shot from above and grabbed my hair. He yanked it up, my head smashing against the under of the table. I yelped from the surprise attack, trying to wriggle free from his grip. _

"_Let go," I hissed. I stabbed him in the hand with the knife, the blade piercing his skin like paper. He screamed in agony and released my hair, a few strands falling to the ground. I took my chance and leapt from my under the table, racing for the door way. The boy didn't stop, he dived for me once again, but this time I was ready. I swung my arm round and struck the boy in the face, a deep scar jagging its way from eye to chin. He roared in pain, collapsing to the ground cradling his injured arm and face. _

_I raced away from the boy, leaving him to bleed on the ground. My hand clutch to the door knob, ready to open when something heavy collided with the back of my skull. _

_I fell to the ground with a heavy thud, clutching my head and groaning. Blood littered my hand. A hand jerked me back up again, dragging me out of the room and into the bright corridor. I winced from the light, still clutching my head. I stole a glance to see the one who had pursued me, and was greeted with bright-burning green eyes. _

_Sense still within me, I wriggled as much as I could, trying to force myself from his grip. But, it only tightened._

"_You're not getting away again, Space-girl," the look-a-like taunted, his face twisted into a sneer. We walked back around into the corridor, I had found myself in, towards a figure stood near the end, his back faced away from us. Somehow, I recognised that dark brown hair. Beside him stood a tall, pale girl with raven coloured hair and icy blue eyes. Both seemed to be in a tense argument, her hand movement's sharp and facial expression stern._

"_Found the girl." The girl stopped talking, her eyes falling on me. Whatever I had done must have really pissed a few people off. "What do you want to do with her? Back in the cell?"_

_The boy waved a hand towards the girl, she turned to protest. The action was futile, he only waved his hand again. The girl huffed in response, before she stalked away down the other end of the corridor. He turned on his heel to face us, a disturbing smirk on his familiar face. "No, not yet. Let us have some fun."_

I opened them again. Blinked once. Then twice.

I expected both Thomas and Alby to be eyeing me carefully, judging looks on their faces. But, both seemed to not have seen my little episode, probably because there wasn't anything to see. Instead, Alby had continued.

"I hope the Changing doesn't give us real memories – just plants fake ones. Some suspect it – I can only hope. If the world's the way I saw it …" He trailed off, leaving an ominous silence. I was starting to believe Alby.

I took a step away from Thomas, making sure that there was a good distance between us. There was a reason why I found him familiar. And boy 'o' boy, I wasn't going anywhere near him no more. Neither Aris.

"Can't you tell me what you saw about me?" I can surely tell you what I saw.

Alby shook his head. "No way, shank. Ain't gonna risk stranglin' myself again. Might be something they got in our brains to control us—just like the memory wipe."

"Well, if I'm evil, maybe you should leave me locked up."

"Yes," I said without thinking. Both sets of eyes fell on me, one confused, one betrayed. "Do it. He's evil I tell you."

Alby looked and Thomas, then burst into laughter, clutching his sides. "Oh, Clarke. One day and you already actin' insane."

"Ha-ha," I laughed nervously, pretending to join in with the hysterics. "Of course, silly me. My mind is already loopy. I betta go then, before you all catch it."

I didn't wait for the reply, I swiftly turned on my heel and hobbled as fast as I could away from them both. I heard Alby whisper _"What's up with her?"_ but not the reply. With no destination in mind, I headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to relieve the hunger pains I had since the second I finished lunch. My appetite hadn't vanished, surprisingly.

I leant one of the crutches on the side of the Homestead, intent on helping myself. I hobbled to the shelves of plates and reached up for mine. Why was it placed on the top shelf? After a few attempts, I still couldn't reach it. I wasn't going to give in yet.

"You need help?" Frankie from the Kitchens asked. He was a tall lad with fiery red hair cut just short of his head. I had seen him around the Glade whenever I was close to the Kitchens, but hadn't said a word to him. I lowered myself down from trying to reach the plate, gripping the remaining crutch as best as I could.

"Erm … just my plate." I pointed to the grey metal plate that I claimed as my own. "Some idiot put it on the top shelf."

Frankie didn't reply, but crossed over and grabbed the plate that I pointed from the top shelf. Being this close, I didn't realize how tall he actually was until he came over and towered over me. How short am I?

"Thanks," I said taking the plate from him. I hobbled away from Frankie, making my way towards the front of the Kitchen.

"Hey, Clarke," Frankie called behind me. "Frypan's got stuff for ya in the Kitchen."

I nodded and followed him through. As I passed him, Frankie took the plate from me, taking the lead. Once inside, he placed a plate full of roast beef and potatoes. I licked my lips and greedily took the plate from him. I gave a very grateful reply, but was stopped before I could leave.

"You gonna leave without the cookies." My head snapped where Frankie stood, a plate of cookies in his hands. My eyes went wide. Never before had I since so many sweet things in one place. I grumbling sound erupted from my stomach, it ached for the food in on my plate and on that plate.

"Are they mine?"

"Yes, no, not all of them."

"Oh, why not?"

"You have to share."

"Share!" I acted surprised. "Not when it comes to sweet things, give them to me."

"What's this about sharing?" Thomas said behind me, making me jump out of my skins (I saved the food). I turned to see him standing in the doorway with his empty plate. "I came for the food, and whatever we are sharing."

"You know what," I said to Frankie, "keep the cookies. I'm gonna … go."

I shoved past Thomas and made for a table as close as I could get to with one crutch. The plate clattered to the table and I slid in. I ate silently by myself, savouring the taste of the beef as much as I could. It burnt my tongue, but it tasted so good.

"What's wrong with you?" Thomas said as he slid in beside me. I ignored him, and carried on with eating. "Hey, you ignoring me?"

This would have been the perfect opportunity to add a sarcastic comment, but it would have contradicted the idea of me no longer speaking. I decided to carry on eating.

"Did I do something wrong?" Thomas pestered me once more. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever I did, but please stop ignoring me."

My mouth opened to reply, but I was cut off with the arrival of Minho joining us at the table. His plate clattered on the table work, the same contents of food steaming of it.

"What's up jailbirds?" Minho said between bites. When no one replied, he looked up from his food with a questioning eye. "Have I just entered into somethin' awkward?"

"No shit," I mumbled.

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna have to change that. Thomas how you feelin' for tomorrow?"

And the subject changed from there; Minho prepping Thomas about his big day of Runner training, giving him a few stats and 'interesting' facts. It was fascinating to learn about the Runners, no matter how small the information was. They were a peculiar group, in the sense that there wasn't much said about what they did in the Maze. Not unless you asked the right questions at the right time.

The brief information that I did pick up on seemed to make the task of map reading all a less daunting. I only had to discover a way out through reading lines, they were running those lines. Every day, for two years. And yet, they still couldn't find an exit.

When we were finished, I decided not to head back to my room, but instead seek out someone to talk too. I found the person I was looking for, stretched out behind a tree, his head resting against the bark.

"Clint?" I called. The boy opened his eyes and stared into me, puzzlement at first but then it relaxed into a friendly smile. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," he said, as he helped me to sit down. "About what? Is it your ankle? Do you need any medicine?"

"I'm fine, stop worrying. It's about somethin' else, more like someone else." I paused. "What do you make of Thomas?"

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, his face showing confusion.

"I mean, in the sense of, do you think he could be different?"

Clint didn't reply straight away, he pondered for the right words to say. "Well, after hearing the stuff that Ben was sayin' when he was whacked and Alby, I reckon he could. But, not now. Not with no memories to stir him in that direction. Why you askin'?"

"No reason," I say as I watch my hands fumble with each other. "I just was curious to see what other people thought of him then the usually suspects."

"Speak of the devil, here's one." Clint murmured, pointing with his chin the he direction behind us. I twisted my body to see Newt making his towards us, drifting in out of a few sleeping bodies.

"Hey there, Clarke, Clint didn't see you there." Clint nodded in return. "I'm gonna have to steal Clarke away from ya. Need to sort out some circle business. Come on."

No questions asked, Newt helped me up from the floor, allowing me to place most of my weight onto his body. Once up, I motioned for him to start walking, and followed behind as best as I could. Just before I got out of reach, Clint mumbled something behind me, my ears only picking parts of it. "Be careful round Thomas, though."

I looked over my shoulder to question why he would say that, but Clint had moved from his spot beside the tree. It was pointless me to go after him and question why he would say that, so instead I followed Newt towards my room.

Inside, he closed the door and led me to my bed. Taking the crutches away once I had settled myself down. He joined me be my side and rested an arm round my shoulder. I took this invite to lean my head against his shoulder. A few sobs escaped me, no longer was I able to keep up the barrier anymore, the memory still very much raw and shaking.

"Don't cry, Clarke," Newt said as he tried to comfort me. "Tell me what's wrong. Did somethin' happen?"

"Yes, no, sorta," was all I could reply. "Remember when I told you about the nightmares I kept havin–"

"They comin' back," Newt jumped in.

I grabbed the pillow from my bed and smashed it across his face. I pushed him down, smothering him with the pillow.

"Will you let me finish before interruptin'," I tried to say as sternly as I could, but my voice cracked at the wrong moments and made myself sound like an idiot. Newt grabbed my arms and shoved me from him. I yelped in pain and retracted back to my original position. I grabbed the end of the sleeping bag and wiped away the trails of tears that marked my face. I wasn't going to cry every time something bad happened.

Newt threw the pillow off his face and stuffed back into its position on my bed. "You gonna attack me, you're gonna get hurt, shank."

I rolled my eyes and playfully punched him in his arm. "I ain't done yet."

"Go on then."

I carried on with my story, explaining the reason why I recognised Thomas and Aris and the reason why I didn't feel comfortable around them, even when I didn't show it myself or forgot entirely. I told him the way I was being chased through the corridors, the fear of being trapped in the unknown and worst of all, not knowing what happened after it finished. "There is one thing I'm certain of."

"What's that?"

"That was the last thing I did before I sent myself up. Either way, whatever happened, I got out and found a good escape."

"Not good enough," Newt added.

"I disagree, they don't remember why they were against me and I don't remember what I did, so we're all in a win-win situation. Well, I'm hoping Aris doesn't remember." I paused, and mumbled the last part. "And I got to meet you."

I leant back, shifting my body so that my head rested on his chest. I felt him stiffen for a second, then relax in the sudden human impact. His arm rested beside my body, the fingertips tapping against my hips.

"Yeah, at least there was one good thing out of this," he mumbled back.

"Newt."

"Yeah."

"You still like Thomas, right?"

"Debatable."

"But, we can't just judge him on one thing I remembered. I never saw the rest, so who knows what he actually meant."

Suddenly, I thought came to me. I sat straight, my mouth wide open in shock. The room felt brighter, all of a sudden, as if the lightbulb above lit up the room better than the one already in here.

"What?" Newt asked, him sitting on his elbows. "What? What is it?"

"I had a total bonkers idea." I turned to face him. "I think half of what I see aren't nightmares at all. You get me." Newt shook his head. "Okay, well, I believe the first 'nightmare' I had was an actually nightmare, but the rest aren't. I think I've been dreaming them, and only now they've manifested into when I'm awake. Newt, I think I'm remembering small pieces of what I did before all this."

"Wait, you mean the darkness and the hairy monster were real? And the boat?"

"Totally. And, I also have a theory why I can recall snapshots. You remember the first time I arrived, and I ran until I passed out?"

"Yeah, you screamed you're head off."

I raised my eyebrow to Newt, then carried on. "Anyway, I think WICKED hadn't had the chance to block everythin' yet."

"What do you mean everythin'?"

"Think about it Newt," I urged. I cupped the sides of his face and bought it closer to me. "Magic can't have stopped us from not remembering ourselves, because it doesn't exist. Somehow, their messin' with our minds with some sort of technology. I think that whatever is stuck in our heads is malfunctioning in mine. And stuff is leaking back in. That's why I can recall stuff and you lot can't. That's why I freaked you all out on the first day."

Newt stayed silent for a long time, his mind racing with the theory I devised out of the spur of the moment. I leant back onto the bed, his eyes staring up to the ceiling. After several moments, he tapped his chin, then his eyes found mine.

"Quite a theory, Clarke," he finally said. "And in some ways, I can see how it would work. Ludicrous, but understandable."

"Well," I flicked the end of my hair, flattered that I was starting to get some recognition in the things that I did. Start small, then aim big.

"Yet." Here we go. "We betta not tell the others."

I nodded in agreement.

"Don't want to a mini riot on our hands. There are already problems and we don't want to add any more fuel to them."

"I understand." I murmured, needn't not be told what he expected me to do. Keep silent, keep secrets. So much for the perfect order, when everything is built on secrets.

"Clarke."

"Hmm."

"Why did you call them WICKED?" Newt questioned.

Damn it. "I-I don't know."

"We've called them the Creators. How do you know to call them WICKED?"

"I saw it written in the Maze, and the beetle blades." Nice save. "Why?"

"Nothing." Newt rose from the bed, taking his cue to leave. "I'm gonna go. Night, Clarke."

He opened the door to leave, but something switched inside me and I called his name just as he was about to step through. He turned back to face me, his eyes searching into mine for why I had called him.

I took a deep breath. "Can you … erm … stay?" I asked, biting my lower lip. I couldn't meet his gaze, so ducked my head down instead.

"Sure," he replied, not asking any questions. "But we gotta be up at early to start on them Maps tomorrow."

I grinned in delight. In these moments of time, I was glad that there were people here that at least liked me, not shunned me or turned me away. I, at least, had somehow gained some happiness here, in the most unusual of circumstances. And I, for one, was going to make it last until WICKED screwed it all up again.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Hello there fellow Gladers, another chapter for you lovely lot! Dedicated to all my 'fans' (if that's the right word). Enjoy, its short and sweet. **

**Sadly, we are nearing the end and on the note of sequel I haven't written that much :( , that means that updating will be a lot slower than normal so I can get ahed. **

**Appreciate any activity on the story!**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

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**Chapter Thirty-Four**

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_People are unhappy when they get something too easily. You have to sweat-that's the only moral they know. ~ Dany Laferrière_

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Waking up to Newt beside me was a surprise and a half. Especially since he had insisted on sleeping on the bare floor of the room when I had asked him to stay. It was strange to feel the comfort of another human, the warmth, the security. Maybe I would eventually get used to it.

What did puzzle me was why on earth he was in my bed?

I could have laid there all day, staring into his handsome face, are noses all most touching that I could almost count the amount stars on his face. But, morning duty called, and I needed the toilet.

At first, I tried to wriggle my body away from his as softly as I could, trying to not to wake him up. The only problem with that plan was that Newt's arms were firmly wrapped around my waist. And, in the process of freeing myself, he only pushed my body closer to his. I bit my lip to stop myself from groaning, the urge there.

"Newt," I whispered, my voice rising. "Newt? Wake up."

The boy moaned in his sleep, his eyes squeezed shut tighter. How deep of a sleep was the kid in? I, again, softly calling his name, this time using my free arm to shake him awake. His strong arms now wrapped protectively around my waist, and he let out a small snore – completely and utterly lost in his slumber.

"Newt, you shank, wake up!" That got him up. His eyes snapped open. He blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Then shook his head.

"What you call me?" he asked half asleep.

"Nothin'," I giggled, burying my head in his chest. Then I ask the question. "Why you in my bed?"

Newt bit his lip and sucked in a breath of air. "You were havin' a nightmare, and wouldn't shut up until I lay here. I couldn't wake you up to make you stop, it was the only way."

I thought about it for a moment. I couldn't quite recall the whole aspect of the nightmare, it may have been a good thing that the details were screwy. It may hint that there wasn't a memory involved.

"Well, then," I said. "Next time at least use the blankets to cover yourself."

I lifted Newt's arm from my waist and wriggled my body over his, lifting my injured leg up and over the side.

"Sorry about this," I grunted as I tried to get out of the bed. "I'm busting for the toilet."

I inched closer off Newt's body, anticipating my other leg to fall over the side and take the weight. Oh, how I was much mistaken.

I fell out of the bed. On to the floor. Landing in a heap. I grimaced in pain. I needed to stop getting into those type of situations. I grabbed the side of the bed and hauled myself up on to it.

"Clarke, you alright?"

"No, of course I'm not alright. Everythin' bad keeps happenin' to me, and my bladder is gonna burst if I don't get to that toilet block."

I got up from the bed again and aimed my arm for my crutches. I grabbed hold them and hobbled out of the room as fast as my legs would take me. Halfway down the stairs, I remembered something and called up for Newt to come down.

"What?" he called from inside my room.

"I need you to stand guard," I shouted back.

"Can't you get someone else, I'm still recoverin' from your weight."

"Newt," I whined. "Come on, I'm literally gonna die. Besides, I don't trust anyone else."

A pause. "Give me a sec."

I heard a thud, then footsteps across the floor. By now, the point of needing the toilet had gotten so desperate I was sure I wasn't going to make in time to the toilet block. Finally, he came from the room and pounded down the stairs towards me. I huffed in response, carrying on down the stairs of the Homestead. I limped out of the building, making my way straight for the block that held these facilities. I urged Newt behind me, who seemed to amble along taking in the amusement of my desperate need to be there.

"Finally," I breathed, racing in as best as I could. "Stay there," I threw over my shoulder, as I took the furthest stall from the entrance.

"You done yet, some want to come in," Newt yelled through the building.

"I'm comin'." I opened the stall door, hopped along the doors, washed my hands, grabbed my crutches and left the building.

"Why do you insist on doing this every day?" Newt asked as he followed me towards the Kitchens.

"Because, I'm a girl and there are boys around, where there are some who can't be trusted with a fly."

We grabbed our breakfasts and, instead of heading to the usual spot, Newt leaded me towards the Map room. He pushed the plates into my grasp, turning to open the door with one of his keys that he produced from his pocket. The locks clicked open and he pushed the heavy door open. Newt walked back to where I stood, grabbed the plates from me and gestured to go inside.

I followed him inside to the dingy room, placing myself on a chair that hadn't been tucked in. The Runners must have left in haste for this chair to be left like this – the room was always kept in an orderly mess.

As soon as the plates hit the table, we gobbled the food up, not letting our tongues savour the taste. Once we were finished, Newt took the plates and dumped them beside the door to be taken out when we left.

"Right, let's get down to business," he said as he opened the first chest of maps.

"Do you see anythin'?" Newt asked, pushing the map once more in my face. "Anythin' at all?"

"Nothin', it's just a map." I sighed, yet again failing at whatever I was supposed to be finding. "And a route, does it resemble somethin'?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Bets me, just thought you would know."

I narrowed my eyes, truly looking into his eyes. "You know, don't you?" I jabbed his side with my finger, him flinching from the reaction. I jabbed again. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!" I pestered, continual smacking his arm and he fell from his chair.

"Enough, I don't know so I how am I supposed to tell ya?" He said, attempting to get back onto the chair.

"Think somethin' up." I waited for his answer. "Fine, it looks like a letter. Happy?"

Newt glanced at the page in front of his, his mouth parted slightly in disbelief. I arched my head, certain I saw a hint of confusion flash before his eyes.

"That is it, isn't it?" I urged, intrigued to the expression.

"I think that's enough for the day," Newt said. He grabbed the papers that we were using throughout the day and placed them back into the chests that they came from. One day, when one of these Gladers pisses me off to the point of no return, these maps will be the first thing I screw around with.

"Before we go," I started, leaning back on my chair. "We need to talk about us."

He retook the chair beside me, leaning in closer, grabbing a lock of my hair and twirling it in between his fingers. "What about _us_?"

"Well, that's thing, what is there between us." I said. "I'm confused. But, not in a bad way."

"Then, in what way?"

I sighed. "Is it a one just the spur of the moment? Or … you know … in another way?"

Newt took my hand from my lap and firmly placed it within his. "Clarke, even though it's been a little over a week, it's felt like a lifetime. Maybe the spur of the moment is what we need. We aren't in a typical situation, we are all abnormal kids in an abnormal world. And this abnormal shank, here, likes the most abnormal shuckface that has ever walked among us."

"You do."

"Yeah, she's magnificent in every possible way. Why do you doubt that?" Newt asked.

"I'm not sure, I don't think – in my past life – that anyone has ever liked me as much as that. And called me weird when professing it." I laughed. I slipped my hand out of his and placed it on the side of his face. "Newt?"

"Hmm."

"Do you think we're taking things to fast?"

"Never."

"There are many things that have happened within this blasted place, but you know what, I think this was the best," I say before I smash my lips hard against his. And that's, ladies and gentlemen, is how apparently I fell in love. Being called an abnormal shuckface.

What a romantic.

We broke apart for a gasp of air, smiling and giddy with joy. Newt mentioned that we should leave before the Runners turned up, and set in motion restoring the table for them to use.

I rose from the chair I had been sitting on for most of the day, my bum sore from the continual sitting. I stretched out my limbs, the aches and pains pulling at my muscles. Two days I've been feeling the pains from my night in the Maze, sitting down all yesterday took its toll as well. Who would of thought that a day of doing nothing and sitting there could have that much effect?

I dragged myself along the tabled, grasped the crutches and hobbled out of the room. Newt closed the doors a soon as I left, the lock clicking shut. He took the plates under his arm, leading the way back to the centre of the Glade. On the way, we passed some of the Runners who were going back to write up their maps for the day. They murmured a few words as they passed to Newt, loud enough for only him to here. In my normal state, I would have strained to hear what they were saying, not today. I don't think the energy was in me anymore to even try.

There wasn't much need for convincing to be told I needed go to bed. The yawns I gave throughout dinner clearly identified it. I made it up the stairs, and for an unknown reason, found myself sitting in the room where Aris lay. An enigma, like me, that boy was. If he did wake up, I hoped he was different to what he was before.

"You don't know what you've let yourself in for, Aris," I told him. "I know who you are, I think. Please don't remember who you are, it won't help you or anyone else."

I sat there for a while, watching the kid. In a way, it was relaxing to see him there. There was no chaos within in this room, only peace and serenity – in a weird sort of way.

I left when twilight turned to darkness, my eyes yarning for sleep. Back in my own room, it didn't take me long to fall asleep, the slipping away easier.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Hello fellow Gladers, its been an entire month since I last updated. Whoah! Anyways, I haven't got any further with the next book, I've had exams and essays to write. But, I'd thought I'd update now because why not.**

**Hope you enjoy it.**

**Comments greatly appreciated.**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thiry-Five**

* * *

_I never tell anyone exactly how clever I am. They would be too scared. ~ Eoin Colfer_

* * *

_Take the next corner. _

_Run. _

_Don't stop. _

_Keep running. _

_Next corner. _

_Don't look behind. _

_Run. _

_Faster. _

_Don't stare into the shadows. _

_Next corner. _

_Run straight. _

_Jump. _

_Run. _

_Hide. _

_Stop. _

_Don't look in the shadows. _

_Crouch. _

_Don't look. _

_No sound. _

_Keep running. _

_Hide. _

_It's coming. _

_Coming. _

_Coming for us all. _

_Always there. _

_Never not there. _

_Don't stop running. _

_Don't stop hiding. _

_Don't look into the shadows._

* * *

I awoke to a weak, lifeless light radiating through the window above my head. My first thought was the feeling that I must have gotten up earlier than usual, that dawn was still an hour away. But, then, I heard the shouts.

"What the?" I sat up from my bed and gazed out of the window. A few of the Gladers pointed towards the sky, questioning the looks across their face. I followed what they were seeing and the cause of the commotion. The sky was a dull slab of grey – not the natural pale light that greeted me every morning. There was no blue, no black, no stars, no artists and his splash of paint. Every inch of that sky was slate grey. Colourless and dead.

To see if I could gain any clearer answers, I decided to join the rest downstairs and ask questions. I caught Clint as he re-entered the Homestead, a bowl of soup in his hands. We both moved out of the doorway, letting others past us.

"The sky, what's wrong with it?" I inquired, pointing towards the broken sky.

"Dunno, woke up and it was broken," he shrugged, moved past me and carried on up the stairs.

Outside, I expected the sky to change back to its normal state. But it was all grey, like a ceiling. Stepping out of the Homestead I noticed the sun no longer producing a brightness, and with that I found most of the Gladers standing near the entrance to the Box, pointing at the dead sky, everyone talking at once.

If this was later than I thought, then breakfast should've been already served, people working round the Glade. But there was something about the largest object in the solar system vanishing that tended to disrupt normal schedules.

I found Thomas silently watching the commotion unravel, his face as calm as I see now every day. Smug, in fact, he looked smug. Mocking the ones that didn't understand. Obviously, the sun couldn't just disappeared, it was near impossible to just drop out of the sky. Yet, it seemed that exactly what happened.

"I bet the sun got bored and ran off with the moon," I said to Thomas, standing beside him. "And now it's messin' with our minds."

Thomas didn't reply to me, instead crossed his arms and carried on looking up to the sky. He pursed his lips.

"Look, I know I 'ave been ignorin' you. I wouldn't do it intentionally. It's just …" I hesitated for a second. "I've been seein' you elsewhere. I recognise you, and I don't know if it's good or bad."

"I thought that," he finally said. "Everyone seems to recognise me in some way."

"And, what I saw (what you can't remember) I don't really think I can judge a person on that, that's in the past. Thomas, I'm sorry for being harsh and not talkin', it's not in my nature to hold a grudge for this long."

"You have with Gally," he joked.

"That's because he called me names and taunted me. He won't be forgiven lightly, but eventually he will." I said, as I stared up to the sky. "But, that's him. I'm talking about you, stop changin' the subject." I smacked his arm, careful not to lose my crutch from under my arm.

"Okay, keep goin'," he said, rubbing his arm from where I hit him.

"I'm just sayin' I forgive you, I no longer hold a grudge." I put my hand, coaxing him to shake. "Let's start again on better terms. Buddy."

We shook hands.

"Well then, buddy," Thomas smirked. "How do you think the sun ran off with the moon?"

I smiled. Forgiveness is the attribute that defines an aspect of a strong person. I wasn't a strong person, for there were other people I had yet to forgive. But, in time, I would consider the likeliness of a world were each person that wronged me understands that my grudges don't last long. Unless, that said person really pisses me off.

"It found the friend she needed and decided to go have adventures," I stated.

"Oh, the sun is a she now."

"Yes, of course. Or, maybe Nut has decided to take over the sky, determining it needed a change of colour," I added.

"Who's Nut?" Thomas asked. I could feel his eyes drift to look at the side of my face as I started up.

"I don't know," I answered, also confused as to why I mention such a name. "Maybe she's connect to the sky in some way."

"Yeah connected," Thomas repeated in a softer voice. "Hey, I forgot to mention, you've stopped calling me Greenie now."

"Oh, have I?" I teased. "Should I carry on doin' it?"

"No," he squealed. "I finally feel like you accept me."

"We're buddies now, I can give you nicknames," I said with a sly smile.

"You can call me Thomas, or Tom," he said. "But not Greenie or any other association with that name."

"Shank? Shuckface? Klunkface?"

"Clarke," Thomas whined. I held my hands up in defence and rolled my eyes.

We both continued to stare at the sky, watching for anything to change in our staring contest with it.

"Have you heard any more of that Teresa-girl?" I asked out of the blue.

Instead of answering, Thomas's rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. That was a yes then. "So, what did she say?" I pushed, now fully interested with girl inside his head. "Did she say, I don't know, _dirty things_?"

"Clarke!" He shrieked, his face in utter shock. He rubbed his chin. Utterly stunned he was.

"What? You did the same to me. Pay back's a bitch," I joked, knocking his leg with the end of my crutch. "Anyway, tell me, what she say?"

"She said," Thomas started, slowly. "That the end has been trigged for all of us, and he had a part in it."

The answer took me back and I went to ask him more. But, the conversation was cut short when Chuck found us, the bounce of joy no longer in his step and his face full of fear.

"What do you think happened?" Chuck said, a pitiful tremor in his voice, his eyes glued to the sky. "Looks like a big grey ceiling – close enough you could almost touch it."

I followed Chuck's gaze and looked up. "Yeah, makes you wonder about this place."

"Maybe something's broken. I mean, maybe it'll be back," Thomas suggested.

Chuck broke gawking at the sky and made eye contact with Thomas. "Broken? What's that supposed to mean?"

Thomas didn't reply, his eyes glazed over deep within thought. I nudged him in the ribs, trying to get his attention. "Thomas?" he gazed down at me, then it turned to Chuck.

"Yeah?"

"What'd you mean by broken?" Chuck repeated.

"Oh. I don't know. Must be things about this place we obviously don't understand. But you can't just make the sun disappear from space. Plus, there's still enough light to see by, as faint as it is. Where's that coming from?"

Chuck's eyes widened, as if the secret of life itself had been revealed to him. Thomas had a point, though. The sun was gone, but where was the light?

"Yeah, where is it coming from? What's going on, Thomas?" Chuck flustered.

I grabbed hold of his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry Chuck, almighty-Thomas here will fix the sky for you."

"Thomas!" Minho shouted, running up to us. "Quit your leisure time with C2 and let's get going. We're already late."

"Still going out there?" I asked, surprised as my counterparts beside me.

"Of course we are, shank," Minho said. "Don't you have maps to look over, and you don't you have some sloppin' to do?" He looked between us all. "If anything, gives us even more reason to get our butts out there. If the sun's really gone, won't be long before plants and animals drop dead, too. I think the desperation level just went up a notch."

"You mean we're going to stay out there all night? Explore the walls a little more closely?"

Minho shook his head. "No, not yet. Maybe soon, though." He looked up toward the sky. "Man, what a way to wake up. Come on, musketeers, you can do your thing when we're done. Scram."

We all parted in different directions, Chuck to whatever he had to do, me to the toilet and the Runners to the Kitchens (after I convinced them to stand guard while I went). Thomas had mentioned that the end had been triggered by the girl in his head. What was the Ending? Was it the sign that they said they would give, because it was quite a big sign to give for such an unimportant person like me. Either way, there wasn't much time left in this place to do the things I should be doing.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Hello fellow Gladers, **

**Almost another month since the last update, even I can't believe it. I thought it was only last week since I gave a new chapter. Oh well, you can indulge yourself with this new one. And, after a long time of waiting, your prayers and questions (if you had any) have been answered.**

**Enjoy...**

**Comments greatly appreciated.**

**See ya next time,**

**queenofthetear x**

* * *

**Chapter Thiry-Six**

* * *

_Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny. ~ Gregory Maguire_

* * *

We started to work late with the Maps, Newt having to sort out the mess ensued throughout the Gladers. It took him half the morning to convince each one to get back to what they were doing, restoring poor order into a chaotic system. Some were sceptical, believing that it was the end of the world altogether. Let's just say that their arses would be sore in the morning.

Once we got around to looking through the maps, the mood had gone from both of us. Newt tried explaining the different techniques that the Runners used in the Maze, and the details that went along with it, but it kept going in one ear and coming out of the other. Eventually, Newt saw my disinterest and ended our work for the day. We packed up our supplies and headed back into the centre of the Glade.

"The supply bell should be going any minute now," he said as he led us towards the Box. "We'll wait here until it does."

A few more boys joined us when we arrived, milling about for the same exact reason. I decided to sit down, to the relief of my ankle and stare up at the grey sky, passing the time of waiting here.

'Any minute' soon passed, and no sound came. The few of the Gladers, that had joined us by the Box, started to become agitated with no sound of the bell. They started to murmur with one another, expressions of confusion creasing their faces.

"What's goin' on?" I said up to Newt, who now too looked confused. He pointed a finger towards me, glanced around then ran straight for the Homestead. As soon as he entered the doorway, he was back out again with Alby beside him. They seemed in deep conversation or having an intense argument.

"Alby, what's goin' on?" someone shouted from our group. "Where's the bell?"

"Shuck it, man," Alby snapped. "I don't know the techna-stuff with this place; I only run it."

He crossed over to the Box, clicking his fingers at a few of the boys. Alby pointed to the handles of the Box, then towards the ones he selected. All took a side, and after a few grunts, heaved the lid open. A gust of cold air swept through us from the shaft, chilling my bones. I slowly got up from the floor and hobbled over to see what they were all looking at.

"Looks like no supplies then," the one called Dave said, expressing everyone's thoughts into words. "What we gonna do now?"

"We ain't gonna panic," Alby said through gritted teeth. "We keep doin' what were supposed to be doin'. Newt, I need you with me at Frypan's."

"I can't leave Clarke on her own," Newt hissed, glancing around at the small crowd that had formed, all curious to see what was going on.

Alby glared down at me, his eyes tinged with irritation. "It's a matter of Keepers. She can't come. Send her to Clint or somethin'."

I knew when I wasn't wanted, I grumbled a response to Alby and hobbled towards the Homestead to see if Clint needed any help. I got up the stairs as best I could. Then walked along the dimly lit corridor. I glanced inside the two first rooms, checking if they either one of the Med-jacks were in there. I spotted Jeff in the second. He nodded and pointed to the wall. I understood what I meant and carried on down the corridor towards the next room.

I lightly tapped on the door and walked in to find Clint sat in a chair next to Aris, a notebook in his lap, him intently scribbling inside it.

"Any luck with coma-kid?"

Clint glimpsed up from his notebook, surprised to see me. "What you doin' 'ere?"

"Alby sent me," I told him, sitting on the chair in the corner. "Didn't want me around to disturb his problem."

"Problem?"

"You didn't see. There are no supplies anymore. The end has come." I whispered the last part.

"No supplies from the Box. Well, we're shucked for good now," Clint whispered, closing the notebook on his lap. He rose from the chair and looked out of the window.

"No sun, no food, no supplies. Do you know what's gonna happen to us?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.

"That's a question I couldn't answer." Clint's eyes lit up from staring out the window. I rose from the chair and crossed the room to join him by the window. I spotted Newt, Alby Minho and Thomas all standing round the Box staring down. The lids had been closed over from the Box in the time I took me to get up here.

"I bet they are discussin' the problem, and I also bet Alby blames it all on Thomas," I said.

Clint laughed. "Wouldn't surprise me."

"What would surprise you?" a voice spoke behind us. Clint and I looked each other in the eye, surprise on our faces, then turned our attention towards not-so-coma-Aris. We didn't reply him, we were too shocked for words to form on our mouths. Aris raised an eyebrow. "Okay, then answer this. Where the heck am I?"

I shifted away from the window, making my way towards the door without my crutches.

"Where you going?" Aris asked. "I asked a question, answer it!"

I turned to face him. He had sat on the side of the bed, his feet dangling over the side. "I … uh … don't answer that. Clint?" I motioned for him to take over. He was a Keeper, it was his job to sort this stuff out.

I dashed out of the room before any more could be said. I leant against the wall and shuffled along. "Jeff!" I called as loud as I could. "Jeff, get here, now!"

He poked his head from one of the rooms, confused. "What?"

A loud clatter came from the room I left Clint and Aris in, catching both of our attentions. Jeff came out of the room and rushed past me into the other. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, he flew back out of it again, a chair crushed on top of him. He groaned, collapsing to the ground groaning.

Aris stepped through the doorway, a sense of rage radiating through him. I took steps back, using the wall as my support. His hard stare turned to me, those bright green eyes burning. He bent down and picked up one of the chair legs, fiddling with it as he stood up.

Without thinking, I turned and ran as best I could towards the stairs. I didn't get far, Aris grabbed my shoulder and smashed my body against the wooden wall, more bruises and scrapes forming. He gripped my shirt tightly, keeping me pressed up against the wall.

"Now," he whispered into my ear. "You talk and there won't be any pain."

I whimpered and nodded in agreement, knowing full well that I wouldn't be able to recover from more pain added.

"Let me go then," I said, my bottoming lip trembling. "Don't touch me." I shifted beneath his grip, but it only tightened against my favour.

"I will. Answer this." Aris leant closer into me. "Tell me where I am and why I can't remember anything."

"I don't answ–"

"You say that one more time, and I'll bash that cast with this very nice wooden pole." He smiled a sinister grin.

I nodded furiously, trying again to pull myself away from him.

"I would stop pulling away … whatever your name is. Answer the question."

I opened my mouth to answer him when there came a quiet voice from the end of the corridor. "Clarke?"

I twisted my head behind me to see the head of curls looking up from the stairs. Chuck's face twisted into confusion, then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. Aris had paused also, taking in the young boy perched on the stair. His grip released ever so slightly, my shirt no longer digging into my neck. I took the opportunity and pushed Aris back with my hands, saying. "Go get Newt!"

Chuck ducked back down from the stairs, his footsteps echoing up the door. Aris grabbed my shoulder once again and pushed me down to the floor hard on my injured ankle. I cried out in pain, it searing up my leg like lightning. I felt the darkness again, an old friend that has visited me one too many times.

I resisted the urge to let it invade me, so I overcame it instead and fought back. I punched him in the gut, aiming as best as I could with all the strength I had. He lunged over, the air taking from him. He released my shirt, his hand clutching his stomach. I grabbed his head and smashed it against the wall before struggling to leap up to try and escape.

I stumbled along the floor, but I never got far before Aris regained himself and came for more. He clutched a few strands of my hair, the strands wrapping around his hand. He yanked on it, trying to pull me back towards him.

"Help!" I yelled as loud as I could. I tried kicking him in the shin with my uninjured leg, breaking him down from the bottom. To my disappointment, he only grimaced from the pain and pulled my hair harder.

"Clarke," a voice called from downstairs. I was unable to respond with my struggle to try and stop Aris from doing the same to me as he did to Jeff and Clint. I heard loud footsteps bound up the stairs, not stopping in any way. I was in absolute agony, the pain so intense now that I was too weak to fight this gigantic kid off me.

A few boys crashed up into the landing, tackling Aris to the ground. Not one stopped to gawk at the not-so-coma-kid anymore, until they had him securely under wrap and arms. A tall, muscular boy sat on top of him, his hands tightly pressing Aris' together.

I sat up from the floor, pulling out the clumps of hair that the bitch stole from me. Newt quickly appeared at my side, taking my elbow and helping me up from the floor and into the nearest room. He closed it straight behind him, shutting out the commotion from us.

"Did he hurt you in any way?" he asked with a concerned look before pulling me into a tight hug. I rested my head on his shoulder.

"Just the usual rough and tumble," I told him. "Ankle kills like a bitch. More so now than before. Have anythin' for that."

"Wait here." Newt helped towards the chair then opened the door and left. The sounds of trying to stop Aris had quietened down when Newt had left the room. A thump and a groan echoed from outside the door, everyone quiet.

"Take him to the Slammer," Newt said through the door. He returned after that with a small bottle of pills in his hands and a glass of water from somewhere. He offered it to me and I took it willingly.

It would take a few moments for the pain disappeared, so I sat and waited.

"Where have you put Aris?" I asked, placing the cup of water onto the desk an arm's reach away.

"_Aris_ is gonna be stayin' in the Slammer for a long time," he said. "We can't have a rogue Glader runnin' around and hurtin' everyone he gets his hands on."

"Jeff, Clint. How are they?"

"Clint's up with a sore head and Jeff's out cold."

I rubbed my hands together, feeling the small tremors in them. I clamped them together instead, trying to relieve my hands of no further fear.

"Can I go back to my own room please?" I asked Newt, who had now taken my hand and squeezed it tightly. He helped me up from my chair, assisting me from this room to my own. I let go of his hand once I entered my room, and laid down on my bed, the events flashing past me.

I closed my eyes, the images becoming more prominent. I opened them, I could still see them.

I hurt so much. I wished the pain would stop. I wished I never be in pain.

"Newt," I said, not opening my eyes. "It hurts so much."

I felt the bed beside me weigh down as he sat down. He retook my hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly. It was like he knew the pain I felt.

"Why does everythin' suck here?" I asked.

"That's a good question," Newt mumbled. He pushed me across the bed ever so slowly and then laid down beside me. "And I reckon it was a sucky place in the first place."

We lay there for a few minutes, blocking out the restless of the Glade from outside. I wanted this moment to never end, the peace of it, the calmness. Out of all the times I have spent in the Glade, I value these small moments that I had. The ones where peace became aligned with the chaos found within me.

"Betta be goin', need to sort out the new problem of the day."

"Can I come with?" I asked, quite shocked at my sudden bravery.

"You sure?" he questioned, turning his head to face mine, our noses almost touching. "Would have thought you stay in 'ere scared before you face another one of them encounters again."

"Fine," I huffed, turning away. "I'll stay, and miss out on all the fun."

We stayed quiet for a few moments, the silent room creeping around us. I scrunched up my nose in disgust. I was not going to be cooped up in here all the time when something bad happens to me. It's not fair.

"Go then," I mumbled. "I don't care."

"Come on, Clarke," Newt tried to say. "You're just … _unpredictable_ at times."

"Whatever."

"Newt!" Alby (his loud voice recognisable) yelled as he banged his fist against the closed door. "Get your shuckin' ass out 'ere now!"

"Alright," he called back rising up from the bed. He kissed the side of my head, then left through the door.

I tilted my head up, glancing over my shoulder to see an empty room and an empty doorway. There was always too much emptiness around me, left on my own for far too long. Told exactly what to do and ordered to follow it. I, no longer, was going to be the mouse that I thought I was, I was going to be the lion.

I rose from the bed, grabbed my fallen crutches and limped out of the door of my room. I made my way down the stairs and out through the Homestead, my mission in arms. I scoured the Glade, looking for the right people to follow. A flock of golden hair caught my eye before it flashed into the grove of trees. I descended the Homestead, brushing past a few too many worried Gladers for my liking. I was sure Newt had said that he had got everyone back under control?

I dismissed the worrying boys around me and tracked the path that I was following. I made to the treeline, half expecting to still see that two figures walking in the direction. But I was going on an ounce of luck. Instead of giving up the adventure, I went in towards the trees. The Glade is not that big of a place, and very hard to get lost in. Sooner or later I would end up finding them both, it couldn't be that hard.

I was wrong. Again.

As I cautious habit, I always checked over my shoulder, in case I was being followed by anyone – which I hated to happen.

Lucky I did, for further down I saw Newt and Alby emerge from the treeline, both looking very angry. I huffed in response, annoyed that I would have had to divert my course once more and try and track these two down again. Why did they have to walk so fast?

I waited for a few moments (more so to catch my breath and calm my agonising ankle) watching to see where they were headed. By the looks of it, the Slammer seemed to be the destination. I gritted my teeth and carried on. I knew who was placed there, and I knew all too well that I really shouldn't be going there. Newt didn't say it in words, but the meaning behind it was clear. Very.

Oh well. I haven't been the one to stick to rules.

I limped my way there, strangely no one tried to stop, they all seemed to be preoccupied with something else. It took me a bit longer than expected to get there. With all the weaving and stopping for short breaks. I hadn't quite gotten over the attack, but I'm not one for sitting down and crying over the events. I'm more for just moving on, I think.

I turned the all too familiar corner, where the thorny bushes lay and the most boring place in the Glade. I spotted two figures, all in a heavy argument. To try and hear them, I stood from around the corner. They hadn't noticed me, so I think I was okay.

I watched Alby step forward. "I'm sick of this." He pointed at Thomas's chest, almost tapping it. "I wanna know who you are and who these other two shucking delinquents are?"

Thomas looked like he was going to pass out from fear. "Alby, I swear–"

"He shouted your name as soon as he was taken out of the Homestead, shuck-face!"

"So what? I know him, he knows me – or at least, we used to. That doesn't mean anything! I can't remember anything. Nor can he."

Alby looked within the Slammer. "What did you do?"

Thomas, stunned by the question, glanced at the Slammer, obviously all they were looking at Aris.

"What did you do!" Alby screamed, his face changing shades of red. "First the sky, now this."

"Something must have been trigged," Aris's mocking, muffled voice spoke through the small window. His face appeared on the other side, bloody and bruised. "On purpose, well that's debatable. I give it a name, The Ending. What ya think?"

_He really wants a death wish_, I thought. Alby glared at him, clenching his fists together.

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked, ignoring Alby. "What happened?"

But Alby grabbed him by the shirt. "What happened? I'll tell ya what happened, shank. Too busy remakin' friends to bother lookin' around? To bother noticing what freaking time it is!"

Then it struck me. The running around, the worried faces. No wonder no one notice me around. They were all too busy focusing on … whatever it was they were focusing on.

"The walls, you shuck. The Doors. They didn't close tonight."

Ah yes, that was it … oh shit.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Hello there fellow Gladers,**

**I know I'm for this, but THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWS! I can't believe this. It's been almost two years since I first published this story, and now it's finally coming to its end. I shock yet it has been coming. And I ever thank you for everyone's patience in my updates. My motivation for the story did disappear, and at one point I decided not bother to finish. But, I'm over that now and I finally had the will to write. I have read on this site (and many others) that people feel like they are forced to write their stories. I don't feel this, it's just at times I'll forget about it or not bother. I enjoy writing this and sharing it with everyone. It just takes me time to do this.**

**Thank you again for the patience.**

**The story is yet over.**

**Comments greatly loved.**

**See ya next time,**

queenofthetear** x**

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**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

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_Telling a story is like reaching into a granary full of wheat and drawing out a handful. There is always more to tell than can be told. ~ Wendell Berry_

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I was stunned. How on earth did I miss such an important event?

The whole fate of the Glade changed. No sun, no supplies, no protecting from the Grievers. The girl in Thomas's head had been right – everything had truly changed. I felt the air in my throat solidified, lodged within in.

"Oh, this seems real bad," Aris added, a smirk on his face. "I'm glad I'm in here and not out there."

Alby marched up to the door of the Slammer, attempting to grab Aris's by the cuff of his shirt through the small window. He growled in frustration when Aris backed up, his laughter echoing from his concrete prison.

"Gotta be quicker next time, hotshot," Aris mocked, only his voice clarifying that he was there.

"You find this all a joke, do ya?" Alby hissed, his voice barely audible. "Well, answer the question."

Aris paused for a moment, then his face reappeared at the window, not close enough for Alby to grab him. "I find this place intriguing. A large area surrounded by these walls. But, it seems, the highlight of this place is that girl over there."

Alby turned his back to Aris and faced me, a scowl very much on his face. There goes my plan of listening in plain sight. Thomas slowly edged his way in between the path of Alby's and I, his nature still unpredictable from the Grief Serum effects.

"Clarke, get outta 'ere. Go help in the Kitchens or somethin'."

I was left speechless, my mouth partially dropping from those words. How dare he imply such low standards upon me? I'm not a weak girl, not anymore.

"Fuck you, Alby." I spat on the floor. "I ain't some kitchen wrench that you can order around. I don't care if you're the Leader, get some shuckin' morals."

"That one's got spirit," Aris cheered, his finger almost touching Alby on the shoulder. "It's sad that she's already been taken."

"One more word, slinthead," Alby spoke through gritted teeth. "And I'll set ya to the Grievers."

There was a brief silence.

"What do ya mean _taken_?" Alby asked, his voice changed from the authoritative tone. He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Ah, my young man," Aris mocked with a sneer. "You really don't know what goes on in your Glade."

Alby grunted again (definitely not pleased with the answer) and turned to face Thomas and I. To be honest, he should have stayed turned the other way, his face looked like it was about to explode. Thomas took a step back the Alby's radius, heading closer over to me.

"I don't have time for your shuckin' riddles," Alby said. "This problem is all upon your heads. I blame all three of you. Everythin' goes wrong round here when you lot started to show up."

"You can't blame us," Thomas stated. "We didn't have anything to do with the closing walls."

"Did you go deaf over the past few minutes, he admitted to it," Alby said.

"That's still not our fault." Thomas pointed to him and me. "Clarke and I had nothin' to do with this."

"Just be glad that your arses aren't in there with him," Alby said. He gave us one last glare before leaving, shoving past me. He was wrong, and he crumbled because of it. I heard in the distance shouts from Alby walking through the Glade.

"We better go," I whispered to Thomas, indicating with my arm to follow me. He nodded and followed me round the corner of the Homestead away from the nightmare in a box into another one. The Glade was in complete chaos, there had been no discernible change in the light since the sun and blue sky hadn't appeared that morning, it still felt like a darkness spread over the Glade. We approached a bench, sat down and watched Alby and Newt gather Keepers to put them in charge of making assignments and getting their groups inside the Homestead within the hour.

The Builders – without their leader, Gally, who was still missing – were ordered to put up barricades at each open Door; they obeyed without complaint, although I knew there wasn't enough time and there weren't materials to do much good. It seemed appropriate, the Keepers wanted to keep people busy, to delay the inevitable panic attacks. Thomas left as soon as we sat down, helping the Builders gather every loose item that could be found. It looked pretty pathetic and ugly, no use at all to keep the Grievers out.

No one had told me to do anything, I was ignored on this lone table, scratching out lines of boredom along the wooden surface. There is a point in its life, the table, that it would have seen worse, but in actual fact, this table had seen far better days. The impending doom that loomed within that Maze counted down until it unleashed itself. We all knew we didn't have long until all hell broke loose within the Glade.

After a while, I did leave the bench and helped Frypan within the Kitchens. I wasn't succumbing to what Alby told me to (I would never), but with the look of struggle on his face, I knew that he needed more help than he actually had. Frypan greeted me with a huge grin, thanking me over and over again for the help. He even slid me a cookie, the under the table sort of thing, for coming over.

Seeing as I couldn't carry anything, I was tasked with placing the non-perishable food from the perishable. The non-perishable food was then moved into the Homestead for safe-keeping, and in case we were trapped in there for long amounts of time. I overheard Newt discussing with Frypan about how we would all sleep in the Homestead and kill all the lights across the Glade, except for emergencies.

Twenty minutes passed before I felt a tap on my shoulder, I looked up from my pile of yet undecided to see Minho leaning over my shoulder.

"A very hard decision," he said. "Do you eat the cookies, or do we save them?"

"I dunno," I replied. "It seems more plausible just to eat them now."

"You said it." Minho grabbed the bag of cookies from the pile and stuffed it under his shirt. "Anyway, seein' as you're the map person, you and Newt are needed on a special mission."

Minho helped me up from the floor, where I had taken to make my decisions, and led me outside of the Kitchens. We made our way across the Glade to the path of the Map Room. Standing in the shadow of the trees was Newt. He seemed uneasy, his eyes darting around, his hands rubbing together. He looked like he was about to commit a crime.

"What's going on?" I whispered to Minho.

"We need your help with the maps." Newt led us down the path, helping me when it got difficult. "We've moved them out of the chests, but need help with fillin' them back up again."

"All the pages, bein' moved, how did you do that?" I asked.

"The Runners, they've been doin' it all day," Minho answered from the rear. "Secretly, mind you. Don't wanna blast out the Runner secrets."

"Runner secrets?"

"Yeah, there's more to what you already know."

"What are they?" I enquired, quite intrigued about all these mysteries and why there was a need for them.

Newt glanced behind, catching the eye of Minho. They didn't want me to know something. Them and their secerts. And I thought that there weren't any more to discover.

"We 'ere." Newt opened the door to the Map Room, revealing what once was a full room of papers filled with routes of the Maze. Now, there was nothing, everything stripped back to the bone. The chests laid empty, nothing bursting over the top. No paper littered the top of the table either, just the pencils pots to the corresponding chair.

"I see what you mean." I headed for one of the chairs and sat down. "So, what exactly am I supposed to be doin' 'ere then?"

"We're gonna stuff these with paper to hide the fact that they aren't there."

"Why?" All this made no sense what so ever. Where did all the maps go? "Where did the maps go?"

"Elsewhere," Newt said, picking up a pile of blank pages from the corner of the room and placing it into one of the chests. "Protecting them, like Alby said."

"Fine," I say as I rose from the chair and helped them both fill the chests. It took us ten minutes of frantic stuffing to fill half of them. We were on a time limit to get them finished before the official night started. The dusk sky hadn't changed all day, and it seemed it wouldn't for the night. We were all stuck in an eternal twilight zone.

Soon enough, Newt instructed me to draw some map patterns onto a few sheets of paper, changing the design each time. The whole point was misdirection, I think. From what I could figure out, by moving the maps away from the room, they somehow believe that something bad was going to happen. Possibly a Griever could demolish it in the night's raid. But what I didn't understand was why there was a need to draw fake maps out.

We had spent thirty minutes in this room, prepping it for the long night ahead. Newt and Minho had managed to fill all the chests in the room, placing the drawn maps inside everyone. I sat down on the chair closest to me and faced the door far in front of me. Minho chucked a bag of cookies on the table, ripped them open and devoured two in one go. He offered me one and I took it before it was sucked up into his mouth.

"What now?" I asked as I nibbled on the cookie.

"Now, well." Minho paused, then his flicked to Newt's. "I'm gonna go find my Runners and set them to some work. I'll see you both in the Homestead soon."

Minho rose from his chair and left the room, stuffing his face with his third cookie he had grabbed from the bag. Newt crossed the room, sitting down on the chair closest to me.

"Before we get outta 'ere, we need to make a few more drawings, for the table," he said.

"Newt, why are we doin' all of this?" I questioned. I picked up on the sad light from his eyes when he spoke his last sentence. There were secrets that were kept, then there were secrets that were made. He was keeping something from me.

"For the Glade," he replied, then kissed me on the lips. At first, I was confused at this sudden gesture, but I did kiss him back. I allowed my hands to raise and intertwine with hair as we both deepened the kiss. To me, it felt like an end of the world kiss, where there was everything to lose for. Well, in a less than a few hours it could all possibly go pear shape. But, I'm going to ignore that fact.

We could have kissed forever, allowed the world to collapse around us. But, time was not on our side, I doubt it would ever be. I broke apart from him, my eyes flicking up to his. They bore all of eternity into one, too fast he had to grow up. Too fast we all had.

"Clarke," Newt said as he stroked the side of my face. "I like you, a lot. And, I hope you do too, because it would crush me if you don't."

"Course I like you," I exclaimed. "I don't have a damn choice."

I giggled. He didn't.

"I do like you Newt," I said between my stifled giggles. "And, it's my own choice."

"How much?"

"Too much to put on a scale," I replied, leaning back onto my chair to stretch out my injured leg. Newt shuffled back on his chair, allowing room for it. He then brushed a hand through his hair, rubbed his hands and stood up.

"I'm so glad," he started. "Because, in the light of what I'm about to do, I want you to understand that I love you, and I'm only doin' this for your best intentions."

"What?" I said, confused. Newt gave me no time to think before he had crossed the Map Room and exited the door. "Newt, stop. What are you doin'?"

I rose from the chair and hobbled round the table, trying to make it to the doorway. I pushed the chairs out of the way, jumping over them best I could.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," Newt said with sadness from outside of the room. I watched in my frantic motion as he grabbed the side of the door and started to push it shut. I screamed manically, shouting his name with my hoarse voice.

I made it to the doorway just has the locks clicked shut, the metallic click echoing round the dark room. I bounded on the door, my fists exploding in pain with every hit. I begged Newt to open the door to let me out. But there was silence on the other side.

Eventually, the shouting turned to painful sobs. My body weak with emotion slid down the side of the floor. I curled up into a ball and sobbed into my knees. Too many times I have been locked places, inside and out. Too many times people push me to one side and expect me to just wither away into the abyss. I haven't yet, and I never will. But this. I get the first time, he was following orders. For _my_ best intentions.

Why can't I stay with them in the Homestead? Was I too much of a burden for them to worry about? I can hold up on my own. I have survived a night in the Maze in worse conditions, I'm sure I can survive a night in the Glade now.

Either way, I was not going to be a sitting duck in this room. No matter how safe they think it is here. To me, it wasn't. The shadows were alive.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Message will follow, stay tuned. queenofthetear x**

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**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

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_"You don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand! You say no! You have the guts to do what's right, even when everyone else just runs away." ~ Doctor Who_

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Darkness. All I saw was the darkness. There was no light that penetrated blackness, no windows to banish the eternal abbess. Only the darkness and myself.

I didn't like the darkness.

It only brought death and fear.

And right that second, I feared it.

I feared what it would bring.

I hadn't moved from the floor since Newt had locked me in here. The fear had locked itself in me. It was funny, the darkness reminded me of a vague memory when I was a child in bed, too scared to move in case the monsters jumped out. Of course, they weren't real, so why would they be real now?

There was no way out of this room. It was a one-way system designed to let people in, not out. Meaning, that the lock internal body lay on the inside of the door. That much I knew, mainly because I saw it each time I had entered this room, but also parts kept digging into the small of my back.

Right there and then, the darkness brought back the memory of waking up for the first time in my second life. Sitting here now felt like it was over a lifetime ago that that moment happened. Nothing I had been through here in this time seemed real at all. A small part of me expected the light to once again illuminate with light, and I would find myself back in that cage once again. Only having lived a dream.

Fat chance that would happen.

Too many times I found myself in situations that I alone had to figure myself out of. This was one of these times. And sure as hell, Newt was going to pay for locking me up in here. Big time.

For all I knew, I could have been locked in here for days on end with no food or water. Fact: humans can survive a matter of three weeks without food, but only one hundred hours without water. If the Homestead was stockpiled for a reason, then it meant that I had to get out and be in there.

Clearly, Newt did not think his plan through. Lucky for him, I'm going to find a way out (to kick his arse into next week).

I sucked in a breath of air and cautiously stood up, gripping the metal tubing on the door as I rose. The first priority was to find a source of light, one that didn't mysteriously flicker every now and again. That would have made the situation a whole lot worse.

Once up, I felt along the doorway and shuffled to my right, knowing that there was a chest nearby me when I raced over. Soon enough, my good leg knocked against a hard wooden side. Found one.

Wait. There wasn't a light source in this room, but there was one in my pocket.

"You idiot," I said as I dug out the screwdriver from my pocket. It hadn't left my side yet, it was too valuable to just put down. I felt for the button on the side, the cool metal tingling my senses. I pushed the button, a green light erupting from the end. The room burst into a green eerie light, long shadows forming from the furniture.

"Nothin' to worry about," I mumbled to myself. I pointed the device around, searching for one of my crutches that I had abandoned in my rush towards the door. I managed to spot the shadow of one still leant against the side of the table. It wasn't too far away, but still a stretch across the open floor. I turned the light off and stuffed the screwdriver back into my pocket.

I braced myself for the jump and leapt across the room, crashing into a chair that I hadn't realised was there when the light was on. There probably was a better way to do that, but I'm not the one to think through a plan. Somehow, I managed to keep the chair upright, which sounds good in a sense, but please don't talk to my shoulder.

I grabbed hold of the table and pulled myself away from the chair. With all my weight now mainly on the table, I was able to reach and grasp the crutch that I remembered was closest to me. I pulled it closer to me and slotted it underneath my arm. One crutch would have to do.

With all my weight spread out, I once again pulled the screwdriver out from my pocket to see where the door was. Green light exploded in the room and I found myself to the far right of the room, located not that far away from the door. I scanned the path leading up to the doorway and no possible obstacles. All I had to do was hobble in a straight line, then curve slightly. But I'm sure I would have figured that out when I closed nearer to it.

I restuffed the screwdriver back into my pocket and walked blindly through the darkness. Here, without a crutch, I would have held up my hands to feel where I was going. However, I was unable, with both hands clutching onto the crutch for support. A bang on the head would have to do.

Eventually, I did make it back to the door and rested up against it while I reached back into my pocket. I could have been just fine without a broken ankle. All my problems would not have me end up here locked in a room.

Now, I had to figure a way out of so told room. And fast, before the Grievers came.

Like I said before, the door was a one-way system designed to only let people in. But, I had the all access key to the universe. I'm sure if it can kill Grievers, a lock wouldn't be too much to ask.

I brushed my fingers against the doorway, hoping to find something that helped the door open. My fingers came across an indented ring that seemed to be connected to something else.

"Here goes nothin'." I leant back on my good leg and pointed the device at where I the circle in the door. My finger pressed the button for the green light to explode out when a loud click disrupted my momentous moment. I traced my fingers back to the circle to find that it was slowly moving. Someone (or something) was opening the door.

I shuffled back and darted to the right, trying to cram my body into the space between the door and the first chest. I took a hold of my crutch and lifted up to use as a weapon. I was going to go down trying. I waited anxiously for the final parts of the door to click signalling the end.

The door was pulled slowly open, the hinges creaking from anticipation. I counted down mentally to three before I gave a loud cry with a raised crutch, ready to attack. The figure on the other side jumped back with fright.

"What the shuckin' hell!" he cried, his arms flying up in front of him.

"Alby?" I said. I lowered the crutch from attack position into defence.

"Clarke, what on earth are you doin' in 'ere?" Alby demanded. He retook his steps back towards the door.

"Newt locked me in," I replied, my eyes hanging low. "Thought it would be best for me."

"No wonder he didn't want me 'ere," he mumbled to himself.

"What do you mean? Shouldn't you be back at the Homestead, you know, leading or somethin'?" I questioned him as I took steps out of the Map room. I was not going to be locked in there a second time tonight.

"I ain't to lead no more. I'm joinin' you with the maps, helpin' to find a way out."

Then it clicked, the reason why the maps were moved from the room. The Runner secret had been trying to protect them, from the leader. Alby was whacked in the head, and very unpredictable. Who knows what he would do?

I decided to play along with the charade that the Runners created. That much I would do. Beyond that, they were on their own.

"I've had enough for one day, I'm gonna head back to the Homestead before the Grievers come. Good luck!" I called as I shuffled past him and down the path back to the centre of the Glade. The sky hadn't changed much since my short amount of time spent in the Map room. It should have been dark, but the grey ceiling looked over instead.

I knew I was running out of time as I quickly hobbled along the path as best as I could with only one crutch. At points, I even risked walking on my broken ankle, just to get there faster. In my haste (and the poor lighting), I didn't notice the branches that stuck up from the ground, creating perfect loops for my feet to catch in. And guess what, that exactly happened.

I remember falling to the floor in a heavy heap, the pain in my right side flaring up, sharp pains splintering in my head. To be honest, falling unconscious was a normal occurrence for me, either that or I was clumsy as hell.

All I remember was the pain, the darkness and the realisation that I needed to get up and keep moving.

The air was colder now when I rose from the floor, my clothes and hair damp. I swear I had only just fallen. I gazed up at the sky but found no answers from the same coloured ceiling that had greeted us earlier that morning.

Had I slept longer than I thought?

_No time, get moving,_ I thought. My head pounded, the feeling like someone had gone inside with a hammer and just went mental. I struggled to get up, pain everywhere. I didn't stop to inspect myself that could be done when I reached the Homestead. With the assistance of the crutch, I managed to raise myself up into a standing position. See I could do anything, even when broken.

Then everything changed.

A mechanised surge of machinery sounded from inside the Glade, followed by the familiar rolling clicks of a Griever on the stony ground. I froze in fear. They were inside.

I took my steps cautiously, trying as best as I could to limit the amount of sound from my feet. At one point, I plucked out the screwdriver and held it in my hand tightly, ready to strike if needed be.

A few minutes passed with me painfully making a slow pace towards the Glade; the various Griever sounds penetrating the walls every ten to twenty seconds. The squeal of small engines followed by a grinding spin of metal. The clicking of spikes against the hard stone. Things snapping and opening and snapping. I winced in fear every time I heard something.

_Keep moving,_ I thought, willing my legs to take the steps back down the path. I had yet to see the strobe lights flicker into the treeline. But, it didn't mean that it wouldn't happen soon.

I eventually made it to the edge of the treeline, the greyness outlining the open space of the Glade. It all sat eerily quiet, no movement from beyond the trees. I shuffled forwards, fear hovering over me like a hawk hunting its prey.

The clicking of spikes against stone echoed across the Glade, it then turning into a deeper, hollower sound. A large shadow fluttered past the upper reaches of the trees, followed by several more, all the right size to be a Griever. And, they were headed straight for the Homestead. I hobbled as close to the open space as I could, making sure that my figure was clouded by the shadows of the trees.

Upon a better view, to my horror, I saw four Grievers climbing up and around the wooden shack. Their spikes piercing the planks as if it were nothing. Lights bounced off in every direction, casting odd beams across the Glade. A few randomly pointed where I stood, but I was sure that none of them noticed me.

Then, another shade flittered across the Glade, this one a whole lot smaller than the rest. A human-sized shape to be exact. It ran towards the Homestead, its leg pounding against the floor.

A moment of thought passed over.

"Alby," I hissed as loud as I could go without gaining the attention of the Grievers. The figure stopped in its tracks and turned to find the source of the sound. I called Alby's name again, thinking that it was him was running towards the Homestead from the Map room. I inched closer, revealing my position. The figure's attention rested onto mine.

That's wasn't Alby.

It was Gally.

His eyes were raged with lunacy; his clothes torn and filthy. Alive, but very twisted.

A sinister smile crept across his lips before he turned away and carried on running towards the Homestead. What on earth was he up to?

I shuffled out of the trees and made straight for the Homestead as fast as I could. Even shifting weight onto my bad leg again. I needed to stop Gally in case he did anything stupid. He had been missing for two days in the Maze, anyone would go mad from that. I certainly would have.

In the midst of running, I watched as Gally threw the door open of the Homestead, dropping to his knees and looking around the room.

"They'll kill you!" I heard him scream. Not far now. "The Grievers will kill you all – one every night till it's over."

Gally staggered to his feet and walked further into the room, seemingly dragging his right leg with a heavy limp.

Mumbled words were exchanged between them next, my ears too far out of range to catch all that was said. I had now slowed down into an antagonising slow shuffle, the pain too much to bear to quicken my speed. A cry erupted from inside the Homestead followed by a heavy thud.

The Grievers outside all twisted their heads to the sound, each one skittling from their original position to find the source of the sound, and kill it.

I edged closer towards the Homestead, not sure as to why I kept getting closer. It only meant certain doom. Anyway, I stood only twenty metres away from the entrance, my eyes watching the Grievers every move. They had yet to pick up on my presence.

"Gally shut your bloody hole – there's a Griever right out the window. Just sit on your butt and be quiet – maybe it'll go away." Newt's voice hissed from inside. From my position outside of the Homestead, I could see Gally shoved into a corner with Newt standing near him, his hands up.

"You don't get it, Newt. You're too stupid – you've always been too stupid. There's no way out – there's no way to win! They're gonna kill you, all of you – one by one!" Screaming the last word, Gally threw his body toward the window.

"No!" Newt yelled, running towards the window. The Grievers above reacted violently to the sound, their spikes piercing their skin in delight.

They had to be warned.

"Four of them!" I yelled from the outside. "Theirs's four!"

And all four pairs of eyes fell onto me. Hunger spiked within them. They had found their prey. I ignored the commotion inside the Homestead, it didn't matter anymore, for I was a dead man walking now.

A whimper escaped my lips and I took a step back. Why weren't they making a move? Why did they just stare?

A mechanical whirring sound erupted behind me, lights flashing all behind and reflecting a shadow onto the front of the Homestead. My shadow. I glanced over my shoulder, a shaky breath of air escaping me.

Behind I saw something that I wished I would never see again, a creature that I haunted my nightmares every time I fell asleep.

I grasped my crutch for support, backing away as best I could. But, my legs wouldn't move, did not want to cooperate with my brain. It was that feeling all over again, the one where my strings were being pulled by an unknown object. Without control over my own body, I felt my nerve endings giving commands to my arms, them unclasping from the crutch and throwing it away.

I, now, was trapped inside my own body, awaiting death to take me. The commotion within the Homestead escalated, the Grievers now attacking the building. That didn't distract either of us. Those red beady eyes piercing into mine, a low moaning bellowing in its belly.

The waiting was the worst part, watching it size up to me, reading all of its arms and tails.

"Clarke, don't worry, I'm here," I heard Newt's voice behind me. Close but not close enough. "Just take small steps back."

I nodded my head and did as I was told. It wouldn't be long before it noticed Newt's presence in the background.

I used my good leg to leaning on, trying to move backwards as best as I could (the strings hadn't been released), and bent backwards, moving away with my heel. The Griever's spikes continually pierced the skin, shooting up.

"Nightmare scenario," I whispered. The Griever was like a cat, somehow, there were traits that signalled when it would attack. It's vicious tail curled up, the spike sparkling in the dim light. That was getting nowhere near me. Ever.

"No one ever understood what I saw, what the Changing did to me! Don't go back to the real world, Thomas! You don't … want … to remember!"

The creature screamed and charged toward me, the shouting setting it off. I stumbled backwards, falling onto the ground. I tried to pull myself across the floor but wasn't quick enough. I knew my time was up. A sharp needle prick signified that.

A scream escaped me, the pain too much to bear. Everything buzzed, the venom piercing each part of me. I felt the world spin around me, I felt delirious, nauseated. I felt cold metal wrap around my leg and pull me. Where the pain masked that.

I heard screaming, shouts, calls for help. I heard my name repeated so many times. Voices raw. People running.

I felt myself, my body, lift into the air and fall onto something slimy, blubbery.

I managed to reopen my eyes, the world at a disorientated angle, everything laying on its side. I saw lights flash around the Glade, I saw the Homestead decrease in size, I saw shapes charge after me, the closest blond.

I lifted my head one final time, the smell and the pain intensifying. With a free hand, I reached out to the blond figure, stretching my fingers as far as they would go.

"Please, don't leave me," I strained to say before the darkness took me for good.

Goodbye, Newt. The broken boy that was never close enough.


	41. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

WICKED Memorandum, Date 232.1.27, Time 22:45

TO: My Associates

FROM: Ava Paige, Chancellor

RE: THOUGHTS ON MAZE TRIALS, Group A

By any reckoning, I think that we can all agree that the Trials were a success. Twenty survivors, all well qualified for our planned endeavour. Reaction to the unplanned Variables was satisfactory and proves promising. The boy's murder, the "rescue" and the "death" of the girl have all proved to be a valuable finale. We needed a shock in their systems, see their responses. Honestly, I am amazed by the outcome, despite everything, we were able to collect such a large population of children that just never gave up.

Oddly enough, seeing them this way, thinking that they have passed the worst of it, has been the hardest thing for me to observe. But there's no time for regret. For the good of our people, we will move forward.

However, we must not forget the problem that we do have. The girl caused a riot before she allowed herself in the Box, and some of the plans that we did have seem they won't be happening much longer. Kings, I do hope the changes required have been done before the beginning of the next stage.

Confirmation has been given that the girl has now been placed in the custody of Vincent and has started Stage 2 with Group C.

We are all well aware of what's at stake. I, for one, am encouraged. The subjects will eventually recall and understand the purpose of the hard things we have done and plan to do to them.

Please respond with your own reactions. The subjects will be allowed one full night's sleep before Stage 2 implementation. At this time, let's allow ourselves to feel hopeful.

Group B's trial results were also most extraordinary. I need time to process the data, but we can touch on it in the morning along with the extensive discussion of how the girl escaped her cell.

There is also the matter of the new 'recruits' to be dealt with. I humbly suggest a swift transportation to the main WICKED facilities, where the knowledge and information can be most useful for us there. However, further discussions can be conferred in the meeting.

Until tomorrow, then.


	42. Final Message

Dear my fellow Gladers,

Today is the day that my last chapter of 'Escape or Die' is published. Two years ago, in November, I decided I wanted to write a fic on the Maze Runner and know and behold I did! Though it has taken a long time for all the chapters to be written, edited then published; I say it was a great experience. I know it may not be amazing, and filled with the greatest plot holes known to man, but I am proud of it.

I know there are people who tell me to they do not like the cross-over or tell me to place it in the right section. I see your point, but I have elected to ignore your suggestions. It is clear to me that you, in fact, never read my first message at the beginning clearly outlining my reasons. I will not repeat myself.

However, I will move on from that.

First, I would like to thank all those that have taken their time to comment on my fic. They all inspire me and give me a clear indication that people do in fact enjoy reading what I write. I salute you all.

Second, I thank all those that have followed or liked my fic. You rock!

And finally, special thanks goes to M. You know who you are, and without that person, the story would never exist on this website. Praise be to M.

With regards to Clarke, she is yet done with WICKED and their ways. She will return in a sequel with all new characters and trials for her to achieve. Keep an eye out for the next book, called 'Assassins of the Sand' (I will post a link at the end of this novel once the fic is live).

Now is my time to say goodbye for now, and to some forever. I hope you enjoyed my fic 'Escape or Die', no matter how cringy, corny of Mary-Suey it was. I will be back, and so will Clarke.

See ya next time,

queenofthetear x


	43. MESSAGE ABOUT SEQUEL!

HEY GUYS, I PUBLISHED THE PROLOGUE TO MY SEQUEL! THE NAME OF THE BOOK IS ASSASSINS OF THE SAND! PLEASE CHECK IT OUT!

I WOULD POST A LINK, BUT IT ISN'T WORKING. IF YOU CAN'T FIND IT, THERE IS A LINK ON MY PROFILE PAGE

queenofthetear x


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